Fire and Lightning
by Mad Scientist Sidekick
Summary: Sequel to "Something to Avenge." The Quarter Quell is about to begin, just as Panem is on the verge of rebellion. The people have had enough of the Capitol, but the districts are still divided and in desperate need of something to give them hope. General Fury of the United Rebel Forces has an idea to give them this hope, but Lieutenant Coulson isn't sure if he's on board with it.
1. Defiance (Spruce)

Chapter 1

Defiance

Spruce

There's no anesthesia when they patch up the wounds from the abominations. They make sure to do a good job otherwise. They need me alive to torture – they think I have more information than I do.

I scream in pain – because I'm only human – but I refuse to beg for death. The Games have turned my passing hatred for the Capitol's government into a burning, miserable abhorrence that I hope is going to see me through to the bitter end. And I know it will be bitter. Once I talk, at "best" they'll alter my face the way so many Capitol residents have theirs altered, cut out my tongue, and make me an Avox. At "worst" they'll execute me.

Clint screams next to me. They keep us together … probably to make it more bitter when we turn on each other, or in hopes that the added bonus of hearing each other being tortured will drive us to insanity faster.

They throw us into dirty cells next to each other and leave us for four days – with small portions of water and food pushed through a hole in the cell door.

Then … _he_ shows up. He pulls me out first.

"Hello … naughty defiant child," he says in a cheery voice. He's got this wicked grin that burns itself instantly into my mind. He's brown-headed and blue-eyed with a craggy face … but there's something very _wrong_ with that face, like it doesn't quite fit right. I put it down to too many cosmetic surgeries, but that doesn't make it any less creepy.

He takes me to a room with a shallow metal tub of water. It's like what I bathed in at home. I wonder if he's going to drown and revive me – that's been an effective torture method throughout the ages, judging by the way they used to dunk witches.

Then I see the wires going into it, and I stop moving. My body tenses up and even though I know better I can't _not_ resist what's about to happen. I can't resist the Other Guy.

Punch, fight, run, escape. Too many. Pain.

The first time the torturer revives me – in itself pretty painful – I'm shaking. The Other Guy took the first round for me, but I feel the ache in my muscles and I choke on the water still in my lungs. He is kneeling over me, compressing my chest and breathing for me with an apparatus. If he'd been doing it the old-fashioned way, I would have bit his lips. I start to retch and he relies on me to turn myself over to vomit up water – he'd probably laugh and enjoy it if I choked to death.

"Do you have anything you want to tell me, naughty child?" he asks me.

"Go to hell," I answer. I don't know anything to tell … and what little I do know I'm keeping to myself.

"I had hoped you would be one of the smart ones, Mr. Banner," he says as he stands up, and the guards grab me again.

The Other Guy is no help this time.

Getting shocked by Anthony's cattle prod hurt, but this hurts far worse – every muscle seizes up. Water rushes down my throat as I'm powerless to stop it – my lungs scream for air and the sensation of the water running down my nose and throat is horrible. I'm endlessly grateful when I finally black out.

He revives me, then does this to me once more, then decides that's enough for the day. He personally takes me back to my cell – soaked in dirty water and probably urine – and throws me in. I shake against the hard floor of the cell, wondering how long my resolve can hold out.

The torturer takes Clint next, and my resolve returns.

They do an awful thing to Clint. They tell him his brother could take him home if he'd just vouch for his character and come get him. Thankfully, I don't think Clint's broken enough to believe it yet.

The only "comfort" in our cells is a television screen. I watch Peeta being interviewed as victor, and eventually going on his Victory Tour, and I'm just glad one of us escaped the wrath of the Capitol.

They show us news that says that all the rebels and the tributes they rescued died – but I don't buy it for a minute.

Lester is our least favorite guard. He has the night shift, and he bangs on the walls of our cell every time we try to sleep, and regales us with trivia about one of the television programs they watch in the Capitol at the top of his lungs. It's awful, but at least he never has to feed us – I can just imagine the "special ingredients" we would find in our already disgusting rations if he had to.

Lester likes to stick his face in the little hole in our cell doors that usually offers food, so we know exactly what he looks like as he taunts us. He torments us by claiming that he "was there" when they shot down the hovercrafts, and Katniss, Brandy, Stephen and Rue were all in them. He says they were alive at first, but he gives us a graphic account about how he and some other soldiers took turns raping them, and then shot Katniss in the stomach and let her bleed out slowly and horrifically before burning the little girls alive. He says they hung Stephen with a long rope after making him watch all this. We know it's made up but his imagination is revolting. It turns my stomach but I swallow my bile and try to shut him out. Clint apparently can't do that – the first time Lester told us the story, Clint tried to keep his cool but he ended up rushing the door and Lester used that as an excuse to taser him. Now he just makes allusions to it and I know it makes Clint's blood boil but he doesn't say anything to him, even as Lester gets progressively more graphic, until finally even the other guards are freaked out and tell him to shut up.

One night he stood at Clint's cell and asked, "So did your brother have to service fat old women after he won?"  
"Yeah, he says your mother liked it best," Clint said back, and I laughed in spite of myself. So did the other two guards, who usually stay dead silent during our nightly torment. Or at least – I laughed until Lester used the taser on Clint without even a flimsy pretense this time.

Lester tells me things to the effect of knowing all about what my father did to my mother and insinuates Briar probably did "weirder" things to me too. I'm not exactly offended by the attack on my father's character, so I always just roll over and go back to sleep. Or try to, anyway – he throws things through that little window at me to keep me up. I don't know how he throws the pebbles and paper clips with such accuracy through such a little window, but they hurt enough to keep me up.

He only threw the pebbles at Clint once – Clint threw it right back at him and got him in the eye. After a lot of hollering and cursing, Lester went in the cell with three other guys and beat Clint to a bloody pulp.

I don't think Lester is specifically told to do any of this to us, but the torturer approves – he smiled at Lester's handiwork when he came to get Clint a couple of days after the beating.

The torturer likes whipping too. I'm sure my back has huge scars – I'm not sure if I form keloids or not.

But mostly, he likes psychological things. Other people in our cell block have their families or friends brought in to be whipped, drowned, electrocuted, mutilated, or some horrible combination therein, in front of them. The only reason that's not my fate or Clint's fate is that they know seeing Dad beat probably wouldn't break me, and Duke is a victor who'll be missed.

But he finds my weak spot anyway.

We've been captive for about six months. The torturer pulls me out of my cell and brings me to the drowning/shocking room. I show my contempt by yawning. It's not lost on him. I manage a surprising level of nonchalance.

Until I see Willow Lawson tied up in the chair they use for shocks when he doesn't feel like getting the floor wet.

"Please don't hurt her," I beg. "She didn't do anything to the Capitol …"  
"Do you have something to tell me, Mr. Banner?" he asks. That's always his question. I almost speak, but can't quite do it.

"Spruce … where am I?" she asks in tears, and I turn to look at her.

I slide into the back of my own mind.

Smash. Smash stupid, ugly face. Smash guards. Kick, punch, tear …

Stupid ugly torturer is red underneath gross plasticy skin.

Loud sound like fireworks. Don't like it. Willow hurt – help her.

Smash. Tear. Break. Smash.

Too many.

Pain.

I hear mumbled voices around me, but can't quite open my eyes. "This kid cost me quite a bit of money," a man grumbles.

"All the more reason to take him as a subject, General," the torturer says. "I believe you will find him … most promising."

"I'd better. Kid's already wasted enough of my money. Betty – get this kid cleaned up!"

I wake up strapped to a table with a beautiful woman standing over me. She looks to be about three years older than me, and she's absolutely stunning with long black hair and beautiful dark brown eyes and perfect, alabaster skin. "It's okay," she says gently as she starts to clean the wounds I apparently obtained in fighting the torturer and his men. I realize it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it should. Even pain I've had for months is gone. "Did you give me …"  
"Sh …" she says quickly, and I don't say any more because I don't want to get her in trouble. We're in a room that's so small it only holds her and me – I'm sure there are guards posted at the door.

"What … what are they going to use me for?" I ask.

"They're … they have a project," she says vaguely. "They need subjects." I shudder and wonder what horrors they'll subject me to.

"Who's Rebeckah?" she asks, seeing my tattoo.

"My mother," I answer. "She passed away two years ago." She nods sympathetically as she cleans a cut above my eye. It's not just the painkillers easing the pain – she's extremely gentle. "Did you watch me in the Games?" I ask, suddenly curious.

"I … I did," she says softly. "You were brave."

At that moment the door opens and she falls silent. "How does it look, Betty?" the man I heard talking earlier asks from the doorway.

"I'm doing what I can – but try to go easy on him today, he's not in good shape," she tells him. He's a big man – tall and broad shouldered, with an impressive mustache and all gray hair.

"No room for going easy, sweetie," he says. Judging by their familiarity and the age difference between them, I guess he's her father.

"Well … I'll have him ready," she says reluctantly.

"That's my girl." He leaves us, and she's almost in tears as she looks at me again. This is not at all encouraging, and I know whatever's coming isn't good.

"You okay, Spruce?" Clint calls to me. We can hear each other in our cells.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. They injected me with something, and now I'm shaking and sweating like with the flu, only dramatically worse. And I have no idea what they did to Willow once the Other Guy freaked out. I'm very glad for the painkillers Betty gave me – they numb me inside too.

"Do you think … do you think Tony's really as bad as they say?" he asks me. They've been showing us, over and over again, highly edited versions of footage from the Games. We see him pinning Brandy to the ground, and they very clumsily cut it so it looks like he raped her. Clint laughed at it at first, but they've shown it so many times he doesn't know what's real or not anymore. Now when they show it he screams in horrible agony, and I know they're doing something to him besides just showing him footage, but I can't see what it is.

"No – if he had raped her, they would have flooded the cave or something. Something to make sure their victor wasn't a rapist. Remember Titus? They don't let savages win."

"I know … I just … He kept her for so long …"  
"You know why he kept her, Clint," I say angrily, losing my patience. "He kept her for bait – he probably just grabbed her because she was close and easy."

"Okay. I'm sure," Clint says, but he doesn't sound sure. I worry about him – how long will it be before he believes the lies about his brother and Katniss too?

**Author's Note**

The point of a long rope is the victim strangles and dies horribly rather than it breaking their neck. And on that cheery note, we're back.


	2. The Odds Were Never in My Favor (Katniss

Chapter 2

The Odds Were Never in My Favor

Katniss

I wander the halls of the ever-moving resistance headquarters – they generally let us wander as long as we stay in certain areas and there's a guard watching us.

It's been almost a year since the rebels rescued us. I think about the allies I lost every day. I think about my sister every day. I think about Gale every day.

I do a lot of thinking because there's not much else to do.

Shale signed on to their cause almost immediately – which is odd because she didn't have any allies to lose. Thresh did two months ago. Drusa and I are the only holdouts.

In fact, Drusa's the only one of us held with any kind of security – she's tried to escape twice and attacked guards several times.

I never go see her – Anthony does. Not sure why, considering she happily tortured him.

Well, maybe not happily. But very willingly.

I look up at the screens that are at the top of the wall along every hallway – they show television from the rest of Panem. I'm not sure how they get the signal, and I don't really care.

They've hacked the screens again – once more pounding in Rue's death by showing her die in Stephen's arms, and then showing the little speech from Stephen. He's their poster boy – they dress him up in a little white uniform and have him give these heroic little speeches. I wonder if their "Boy Hero" image will keep working when his voice changes – he's grown about six inches since the Games.

I understand why it's necessary, but I hate that they turned Rue's death into propaganda. They started it right after we got here – exposing the Capitol as liars since they said we were all dead – and then during Peeta's victory tour they put the interruptions on an almost constant loop of "Watch this cute little girl die in a cute little boy's arms! Isn't that sad? Watch this cute little girl die in a cute little boy's arms! Isn't that sad?" It makes me sick.

"I'm glad that I'm not the only one who's bothered by those," Thresh says. His voice startles me – he moves way more quietly than you'd expect from such a huge person. I'll never forget watching the propo for the first time with Thresh and Shale – Thresh had a complete break-down when he saw the blood pooling under Rue's body as Stephen held her and lied to her, saying she was going to be fine and the other hovercraft got everyone out safely. As soon as it ended, Thresh wailed and slammed the table with his huge fists and cursed himself for not being there throughout the Games, and when Shale tried to comfort him and say he couldn't have known about the rules change, he said he should have stayed anyway and he's a coward. "You just didn't want to have to kill her, Thresh – that's understandable," Shale said comfortingly.

"You don't understand – I should have stayed by her. Stark told me what he was going to do but I didn't believe him …"  
"I don't blame you, Thresh – Clint told me the offer and neither of us believed it," I added quickly.

"It doesn't matter – I should have been with her. I should have planned to let her kill me at the end. I know her mama's lost without her."  
"You knew her before the Arena?" Shale asked, eyes wide, and then he looked away and wouldn't face us.

"She was my cousin. We just held onto hope our names wouldn't come up at the Reaping … I promised her mama I wouldn't hurt her … I thought if the Careers were chasing me she could have a chance …" We fell silent then, looking at him with pity and not knowing what to say. It's hard to find the words even now – as hard as it is for me, I can imagine what he goes through every time he watches his little cousin die, while he was in the other hovercraft and unable to help.

"I'm sorry, Thresh – they should have talked to you for the propo."  
"Why? I'm not the one who looked after her – you and Spruce and Clint did." I know he still thinks he's a coward, and I don't know how to change his mind.

We reach the hall that leads to where Drusa is, and to my surprise, Thresh starts to head in her direction. "You're going to see the Career?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah. I've been twice – Fury wants her on our side. He says having a Career turn on the Capitol would mean a lot."

"I'm sure it would – if you could make it happen."  
"She's not as bad as you think. You should give it a chance," Thresh says. I chuckle at the thought – I wouldn't go see that crazy bitch if my life depended on it.

"Whatever. Suit yourself," he says, and we part ways.

I go on walking. There's no windows, so there's no scenery – but you can only look at so many trees and ruins anyway. I think about Spruce and Clint as I walk. I hope they're dead – the alternative is that they've been being tortured for months on end. I used to ask when they were planning a rescue mission – I would have joined up to save them. But they kept saying it was too soon, that we didn't know for sure they were alive … hundreds of excuses not to go after them.

I dream about waking up next to Clint sometimes … but then I open my eyes and I'm alone. It's strange to think the very thing that made me so angry during the Games now angers me even more by its absence.

I still have the bow he made me – it's hanging over one of the posts of my bed, the one closest to my head, so when I wake up after dreaming about him I put my hand to it and remember that the boy who made it for me is dead, if he's lucky. Which he never was before.

Today they're going to announce the "theme" for the Quarter Quell. I wonder what horrific thing they'll do this year. Maybe make the kids younger than 12, maybe make each district send six tributes this year, maybe only send pairs that are siblings or lovers. Maybe just shoot them on the spot, considering what happened with the last Game.

I practically bump into Phillip. "Going anywhere in particular or just walking?" he asks, with just a hint of disapproval.

"What do you have against walking?" I ask. I don't mean it seriously. But of course he takes it seriously.

"There was never a lot of time for … leisure … in District 13. I'm sorry – I know you've got a lot on your mind."

"It's fine, Phillip," I say.

"Have you been to see Anthony today?" he asks. For the past ten months, Anthony's been hooked up to a huge battery thing, apparently powering a magnet that keeps shrapnel from digging into his heart. I have no idea why Phillip is asking – I hardly ever go to see him. He's got a little smile and there's something he isn't telling me.

"Should I?"

"Definitely."

I follow Phillip to the Stark family's residential quarters – they always make sure to guard us when we go there. The Starks have their own quarters because Anthony's dad is apparently important to the rebellion, and Tony himself is apparently working on some kind of super important technology that's going to change the war. Their quarters aren't any nicer than anyone else's – all though Tony and Howard both have their own "lab" and one where they work together on whatever this revolutionary technology is.

Tony's mother, Morgan, a beautiful brunette, sees us coming and smiles. She hugs me and Phillip – it's equally awkward for both of us. "Did you come to see Anthony?" she asks, excited.

"We did," Phillip says with a smile.

She shows us to Tony's lab. I've never actually been inside it – I don't think he likes people interrupting him. We go through the doors and find Tony surrounded by rebel scientists – I recognize Henry Pym, the Capitol traitor who's been with us for a few months now. She clears her throat softly and waits patiently – I find myself hoping whatever they're talking about is important and we get told to come back later.

Shale is sitting on Tony's desk behind him – I imagine if anyone else sat on his desk he'd be annoyed.

Well, maybe not if they were pretty enough.

Pym looks up and sees us when Morgan clears her throat. He doesn't have a lot of tattoos or modifications like most people from the Capitol, and he doesn't even wear make-up and his hair's just a very typical blond. He's shy, unlike anyone else from the Capitol I've met. Phillip says that's because he's from a lower social class – the ones we run into while we're at the Games are the rich people who can afford to spend their money on stupid things. Well, they're close enough to being able to afford it that they can get the loans, anyway. And the rich ones have a certain … culture. That's one way to put it.

Pym stands aside, and I see Anthony clearly for the first time since I came in. His battery hook-up is gone completely. "Hey Catnip," he says to me. He does that all the time – he has no way of knowing it's a dagger in my heart. Speaking of hearts … he's got some kind of glowing blue thing over his.

"Hay is for horses," I say back, and even coming from my mouth, the words hurt as I think of that night on the roof with Clint when he told me he didn't want to be one of my ghosts. Tony seems to know this, and even he doesn't make fun of me. "What's that?" I ask, pointing to the glowing blue thing that's apparently his new battery.

"It's how we're turning this thing around, Catnip," he says. "It's an arc reactor – a better source of energy than anything we've seen before." I know instantly why this is important – there's a reason the Capitol uses hovercrafts and trains instead of airplanes. Also, the hovercraft the rebels use to move around and stay undetected is powered by nuclear energy, which is not exactly safe.

"But more importantly, it means you won't have to lug a huge battery around any more, right?" I ask. Everything is about Tony.

"It's a nice bonus," he says with a smile. It is a nice smile I guess.

"It means he can fight," Shale says and takes his hand, and I can't quite read her tone. Pym looks very uncomfortable at the statement, but some of the other scientists laugh. Howard looks proud of him. Tony presses her hand against his face and kisses it. None of us are sure if he's really in love or just enjoying the chase.

"Still not ready to make a decision, Catnip?" Tony asks me. I hate him – he knows I want to help, but I can't risk something going wrong with the "extractions" and the people I love facing reprisal. He reads my silence correctly. "Well, we'll see what happens with the announcement today." I don't like the way he says that.

"Why? Do you know something?" I ask.

"We don't know anything for sure," Phillip says quickly. I turn to him and glare.

"You knew something? And you didn't tell me?" I demand.

"If you'd get with the program you'd be in the loop, it's not his job to hold your hand," Tony says sharply from the desk, only now he's standing up.

"We didn't want to upset you unnecessarily," Phillip adds quickly. "There's still a chance we're wrong …"

"About what?" I demand, tired of everyone pussyfooting around it.

"We think they're going to draw this year's tributes from among the victors," Phillip says.

"An All-Star Edition, if you will," Tony adds flippantly.

"Tony!" Shale whispers sharply.

"But … That won't work. District 12 doesn't even have a female victor … I'm not sure if all the other districts do either."  
"12 is the only one with that issue – all the others have at least one victor of both genders," Phillip explains. "If that is indeed their plan – which we don't know for sure since it's supposed to be a secret until today, and has supposedly been planned seventy-five years in advance. We … have three theories about how they might handle this. One of them you really won't like." I take a deep breath – whatever the case, if they do this, Peeta's got a terribly good chance of going back.

"The first way they could resolve this issue is to have 12 send two males – Peeta and Haymitch." I wonder who would mentor the kids from 12 the next year if both of them died, or would serve in the mentor capacity of getting sponsors while they were both in the Arena. "The second is that they could simply conduct their drawing for the female tribute in the same manner as every other year." That's not bad … well, it's bad, but not any worse than any other Games. At least for the women of 12.

"And the third?" I ask, because he hesitates.

"You were favored to win – especially once Drusa was wounded," Phillip starts to explain and I know where he's going but I can't accept it. "It seems likely, if they're going to do this with the victors, that they'll send Primrose."

You could hear a pin drop in the room. Everyone looks at me sympathetically, even Tony. "Prim? Why would they send Prim?" I ask faintly. "Against all those victors … she wouldn't …" I try to hold it together. I don't want to cry in front of Tony.

"That the point, Katniss – they know you survived, and they're going to take it out on Prim. It doesn't matter whether you help us or not," Tony explains. I start to back away, but my legs are shaking. I can't stop the tears anymore and I run out of the room. Phillip follows.

I make it outside the lab and start to sob. Phillip stands there awkwardly, and eventually settles on giving me a very awkward hug and patting my back stiffly. "I didn't tell you because we don't know anything yet … Plutarch could be wrong … Even if they send the victors, they may not send Prim …"

"We … we have to stop them," I stammer.

"We're trying, Katniss … we've got a plan, but I can't read you in unless …"

"I'm joining. I want to help," I say adamantly.

"Wait until they make the announcements," he says. "You'll change your mind otherwise." He doesn't say it accusingly – but it still stings. He knows me so well.

Morgan joins us shortly after. "I'll take this, Phillip," she says softly – she knows how he is. I wonder if that's normal for District 13 or just Phillip. She hugs me and it feels more natural. "It'll be all right, Katniss. We don't even know anything for sure yet," she says reassuringly. But I know better. The odds were never in my favor.

**Author's Note**

I didn't try to give Pym a Roman name because I figure since he's lower class they wouldn't try so hard. Come to think of it that's my logic on keeping Betty too.

You have no idea how unreasonably happy I was to see "The odds are never in our favor" in graffiti in the trailer for Catching Fire. That phrase is begging for something like that.


	3. Once More into the Fray (Spruce)

Chapter 3

Once More into the Fray

Spruce

I'm shaking and vomiting once again – I don't know what they're doing to me. They inject me with something, and then they shoot me with some kind of radiation. It's not that bad in and of itself, but it makes me violently ill afterwards. This by no means stops the torturer from doing his job, so I brace myself as he steps into the cell. "Are you ready for a treat, naughty children?" he asks in that awful, falsely cheery tone.

I'm relieved when he turns on my screen. They don't leave our screens on a lot any more – I suspect the rebels are tampering with the broadcasts, and I savor that thought. He must turn Clint's on as well – and we both watch. Whatever they want us to see, it can't be good.

I see President Snow pick out a card from a box, and I realize he's announcing the theme of the third Quarter Quell. I listen closely as he explains what they're doing. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors." Clint makes this horrified sound, but it takes me a moment to process that – I stand, staring at the screen, shocked, as it sinks in.

They're drawing their tributes from the victors.

I should be glad. At least it won't be children.

But then I remember Johanna's the only woman from 7 whose ever won who's still alive.

Clint starts to thrash around in his cell – he's gotten violent with guards so they tie him up. (Thanks to the Other Guy, I'm tied up too.) There's not many victors from 10 – his brother's only the second male victor.

Then something occurs to me, and as soon as it does, they're discussing it on the screen.

"Of course … there's a bit of an issue, considering that the only victors from District 12 are Peeta Mellark and Haymitch Abernathy," Caesar Flickerman points out. "But the Gamemakers are meeting with President Snow now, discussing the situation as we speak."

The torturer turns off the screens while they wait for an answer. I want to tell Clint not to worry but that would be like telling him not to breathe. I know Johanna's going back … I don't doubt she'll hold her own. I just worry about her sanity.

The torturer turns our screens back on – they're making the announcement of their decision. "Because there is no female victor from District 12, and in consideration of Katniss Everdeen's remarkable performance in the previous Games, it has been decided that her sister, Primrose Everdeen, shall serve as the female tribute for District 12."

My heart breaks for Katniss, wherever she is. But Clint … Clint takes it much harder than me. He starts screaming curse words at the Capitol both about how his brother was supposed to be safe and how they're monsters for using a little girl against her sister, and from the sound of it he manages to get on his feet and rush the door of the cell. He moans as he gets electrocuted for his trouble, and I try my best to shut my ears. But I hear every agonized breath and the strangled sobs when he recovers himself – and I know he won't hold out for much longer.


	4. Worthy (Peeta)

Chapter 4

Worthy

Peeta

I watched the announcement in anticipation, wondering what horrors I'd have to deal with my first year as a mentor – usually victors got a year or two off after their victory before they were expected to become mentors. But the kids from our District need all the help they can get – so I was planning to get one tribute while Haymitch got the other.

Until they announced the theme of the Quarter Quell.

It's unfathomable to me – the thought of returning to the Arena. I still dream about Callie, the girl from 8, and Cato – I know I did what I had to do, but no one told my dreams that. It's either that or the rainbow bridge dreams. I prefer the latter even though they're becoming more and more worrying – the tone is increasingly more urgent in them, and I still don't understand a thing.

I find myself in the woods – Prim shows me how to jump the fence. She's been going to the woods now to get herbs. I worry about her since the Peacekeepers are cracking down, but she insists it's safe. "Come on, Peeta, you slowpoke," she says as we trudge through the woods. I'm not sure what I'm doing out here – maybe I think I'll run away or something. Yeah right.

I watch her put medicinal herbs in a little pouch, standing back awkwardly and not knowing what to do. Her face is red from tears – of course she's been crying, of course she's scared. I don't care what Haymitch says – I'm volunteering. There's a fifty percent chance they'd draw me anyway. We all train – I insist on training along with them even though Haymitch insists he's the one going into the Arena with Prim. We get up and run on a path that goes through town and along the fence to the woods. Haymitch can still barely make the distance at all – I don't know how he thinks he's going to survive and keep her alive in the Arena. We're not allowed to practice with any serious weapons but we use silverware as a substitute for knives and borrow some broken pickaxes to use as swords and axes. And I assume Prim has practiced a lot of climbing while she's on her journeys to gather herbs.

The silence becomes exceedingly awkward as it becomes more and more clear to me that I'm not going to try to run away, and more and more clear to her that that's why I came in the woods with her. "Do you want to practice climbing?" she asks finally.

"That's a good idea," I say.

I'm very, very bad at it. She climbs the first tree effortlessly, and climbs worryingly high into the branches, and I can't figure out how to get off the ground with it. "No – look at that branch – see you put your weight on that to … no not like that …" She's incredibly patient with me, and my cheeks redden at the thought that she's more competent than me. Maybe Haymitch should go in the Arena. But then I remember him huffing and puffing after _maybe_ one hundred feet of "running" (really more of a slow jog) and feel better about the fact I apparently can't climb a "beginner's tree."

I finally get myself into the crotch of the tree and breathe a sigh of relief. This would definitely save me … from last year's mutts. For thirty seconds. If they were kind enough to wait for me while I tried to get into the tree. "So … I don't think I'm good at this," I note unnecessarily.

"I guess not," Prim says hesitantly. She probably wanted to say something snippier, but she's too nice.

Now that I'm up in the air though, I notice something odd. "Hey – why are the trees so thin over there?" I ask.

"Oh … that's Gale's grove. He doesn't want me to go there," Prim says. This strikes me as very odd – what on Earth would Gale be hiding in there he couldn't show to Prim?

"Well – he's not here now," I say.

"Nope," Prim says. And the way she says it, I know what she's thinking. I'm curious too – but I want to approach with extreme caution.

After I manage to get out of the tree by means of a controlled fall and Prim climbs down much more gracefully, she leads me to the place Gale won't let her go. We approach cautiously – for all I know we're going to find a bunch of offal from skinned animals or something and I don't want to upset Prim unnecessarily.

But it's weird – it's like something knocked down a couple of trees. I'd say a lighting strike but they're not burned – it's like they were hit by something incredibly heavy and broke under the weight.

And then, just beyond the fallen trees, there's a huge gash in the ground, and at the end of this gash, a square-faced hammer with runes written on it. I know immediately this is what I've been dreaming about. I run to it.

"Peeta? What is it?" Prim asks in a hushed tone, her voice full of awe.

"I don't know … but I think it was meant for me," I say, and grasp the handle with both hands.

I'm immediately proven wrong when I can't lift it. I strain and try, but it doesn't even budge. I quickly realize it's what knocked down the trees and gouged the Earth – I have no idea how it got here or what anyone's supposed to do with it.

I stand back, hands on my hips, studying the hammer. "Oh … I think I know what this is," she says, unexpectedly. "Gale used to tell his little sister these stories …" She hesitates for a moment, then steps forward and puts both hands on the handle, then braces herself and lifts. It comes up with her pull, and she holds it high above her head. I stand there, jaw gaping open. She grins. "What do we do now?" I ask after a long, stunned silence, since she knows more about it than I do.

"It's one of the most powerful weapons ever made. We use it to fight …" She hesitates. I can't see Prim fighting anyone – not even the Capitol. But I don't know if anyone else can lift it – and I don't understand what governs who can pick it up.

"We better leave it here for now – Gale will notice and be mad," I say. "Plus … we don't want the Peacekeepers to see it."

"You're right," she says and sets it down in the gash, the same place she got it from. My mind is already racing – can we use this to save her life? And then … my mind wanders to more ambitious things.

Who can I confide in about this? Haymitch?

We start to leave the clearing when we run into Gale. He doesn't look happy. In fact, he looks furious. "What are you doing here?" he demands to know.

"I uh … I was practicing climbing trees and I saw …"  
"This is mine, you understand?" he yells at me, and pushes me against a tree. He's a whole lot taller than me and way heavier. Even so, I find it in me to question him on this.

"What do you mean, yours? I'm the one whose been dreaming about it."  
"You … You dreamed about this hammer?" he asks, and he sounds incredibly hurt. He lets me go and takes a few steps back.

"Yes, for months now. What did you mean when you said it was yours?"  
"I told you, Peeta, it was his family stories," Prim says indignantly.

"Yeah you did but … I need a little more clarification than that."

"Mjolnor is the hammer of Thor," Gale explains. This doesn't help me much. I have a vague idea that Thor has something to do with lightning and Thursdays. And that he's mythological, all though the presence of the hammer calls that into question.

"And what does this have to do with your family?" I ask cautiously.

"Thor was … is … my great-grandfather," Gale says, not looking at me because even he knows he sounds crazy. I have no idea what to say. Normally I'd say he was insane and hurry back to the village, but there's a hammer that apparently knocked over some trees, tore a huge trench in the ground, and that I can't lift but tiny little Prim can. I'm ready to believe just about anything.

"So … it's probably meant for you. I dreamed about it. But only Prim can lift it," I say slowly, trying to figure out why this would be.

"Prim? You can lift it?" he asks her, putting hands on her shoulders and leaning down so he's on eye level with her. He forgets me entirely.

"Yes," she says reluctantly, and glares at me for blurting it out.

"I should have thought of that before!" he says, overjoyed. "Do you know what this means?" She nods, but all the color has drained out of her face.

"No, Gale," I say cautiously. "You can't ask her to do that."  
"What are you talking about?" he demands. If looks could kill, I would be dead ten times over.

"Guys – we should probably go. If a hovercraft goes over we don't want to call attention to it," Prim says quickly. I know she says it just to keep us from fighting, but she has a point. We take one last look, then head for the village.

"Maybe you should go ahead … you know … in case someone's walking by the fence," I say awkwardly. He gives me a look – he sees through that but walks ahead anyway.

I want to delay this confrontation for as long as humanly possible.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I love Peeta and I so wanted to make him able to lift the hammer, but decided against it. Will either of the boys be able to lift it by the end? Stay tuned to find out.


	5. Heels (Shale)

Chapter 5

Heels

Shale

They make Tony up so that his eyes stand out even more than they usually do. I could get lost in his eyes. He hates it when they put make-up on him, since he's already in love with his face the way it is.

Cressida calls lights and the start of the camera. "So Tony, what are you avenging?" she asks.

"My beard. I don't know what the hell they gave me, but I still can't grow it back," he says flippantly. I laugh. No one else does.

"Cut!" Cressida calls, irritated, and I stifle my laughter. Tony grins at me – I shouldn't encourage him.

"Be serious, Tony," Cressida snaps. "Most of the audience still thinks of you as a heel – we need to change that."  
"I put up with Brandy Sparza for over a week and only hit her once! How am I still a heel?!" he protests.

"Tony, Stephen and Katniss may have forgiven you for smacking him around and calling her a slut and understood that was a part you had to play … but I'm not sure the rest of Panem agrees. We need something more sympathetic and compelling than the loss of your beard," Cressida says with a sigh. I decide I need to intervene. I step closer to him and lean against him.

"Tony … just play along," I say.

"I was being completely honest – you saw my beard on Reaping Day."  
"Yes, it was very impressive. I think I like you better this way though," I say, and put my hand against his (smooth) cheek. My dad's beard scratches my cheek when he kisses me – I don't think I'd like it if Tony's kisses felt the same.

"But the beard is part of me," he says, grinning, and kisses me on the cheek.

"You two can get a room later, we're trying to film a propo here," Cressida scolds, but she's smiling. I suspect they've been taping this whole "argument" – the fact we're in love will probably sell well, judging by what a hit little Rue and Stephen and the love triangle between Katniss, Clint, and Peeta were last year. But I get more serious, and I look him in the eye.

"Tony – tell them about Amp," I say.

"Maybe I don't want to talk about Amp," he says evasively.

"Amp – Ampere Yinsen, the boy from 3 who died in the 69th Games?" Cressida asks. She has a remarkable memory, and she's dedicated herself to knowing as many of the fallen tributes as possible. Considering that's over one thousand and seven hundred, that would be almost impossible – but she focuses on the ones in recent memory.

"Yeah, that would be Amp," Tony says, still evasive, all though he has a distant look in his eyes.

"Tony – tell them about Amp," I repeat. I stand by him and take his hand even though this is just supposed to be him. Cressida doesn't object.

"Amp was my best friend," Tony starts, trying to sound clinical. I know it won't be long until his voice cracks. "The way our birthdays were, I was in the drawings before him, but there wasn't that much age difference between us. He was twelve, almost thirteen, when his name was chosen for the males of District 3. The thing is … he wasn't just my best friend, he was pretty much my only friend. His dad worked for my dad as an engineer, and his mom, Platty … Platinum … was our housekeeper." The two followed them here, so he's not endangering anyone. "He was smart … probably almost as smart as me …"  
"Humility, Tony," I whisper.

"No, he was as smart as me. Maybe even smarter. I always got him in trouble … he always wanted to follow the rules and I told him it was okay to break them. He was good with electronics but he loved animals … my dad used to joke he should have been born in District 10. We caught birds and rabbits and all kind of little creatures in the park and tried to keep them as pets – it always made our mothers freak out about fleas and rabies. He read that in the Capitol there were animal doctors, veterinarians, and he wanted to be that. But of course there's no such job in the Districts, except maybe 10 … people have a hard enough time keeping themselves alive. Even in the wealthier Districts." His façade is cracking, and I hope the audience will like what they see when this propo airs. Tony takes a deep breath, then gets to the hard part. "I sat in my living room and watched Duke Barton put an arrow through his eye. Several times, because it was on the highlights. It was … spectacular. There was a lot of blood and Amp … he died instantly so … he sort of crumpled to the ground in this slow, weirdly graceful way …. He hit his knees, then fell forward and laid flat on the ground with his head turned so the camera could see the arrow … it looked staged …" He closes his eyes, and I know he sees it as vividly now as the day he first saw it on his screen. "It was out of nowhere – my mother usually hid my face when the deaths happened, but she didn't have time, because Duke was hiding in the trees and just shot whoever came in range. We were just cheering for Amp, running from another tribute and almost getting away from that guy and then … Duke got him from the tree. And then the guy who was chasing him in the first place. It wasn't personal. It was just … It was just Duke trying to save his little brother. And he did. For a few years anyway." I remember watching too – I was too little to be Reaped, but Amp was closer to my age and he survived so much longer than anyone expected, and I think all the little ones cheered for him since his survival would give us some hope. The Arena that year was mostly desert and there was only one wooded part – Amp hid in the trees for days and drank from the dew on the leaves in the morning and evening, and he pulled off some bark and ate the soft inside of it. The announcers said his only hope was that Duke and the Careers would kill each other and Amp could win without killing anyone just by being quiet and staying out of the way. I sobbed for days when he was killed – like Tony's mother, my father had no time to hide my eyes – and I cursed at Duke for killing him. But he did what he had to do – I don't think he enjoyed it. He took Amp a ways away so he wasn't lying next to the boy who was trying to kill him and thanked him for his sacrifice.

"Was it hard to see Clint at the 74th Games?" Cressida asks – I've wondered all this time.

"Yeah it was … at first. When I saw him get Reaped I … I didn't know if I wanted to help him. But he's a good guy and he didn't kill Amp – his brother did. And, if you take a causal view of things … Duke didn't kill Amp. The Capitol did. He was dead from the moment the Capitol put him in that Arena … Duke just happened to be the one who lived, is all." Cressida doesn't have to ask anything else – Tony knows what he's doing. "Amp is the reason I volunteered. He's the person I'm avenging. But not just him."  
"Who else?" Cressida asks.

"Spruce Banner asked me about radiation before the Games. I asked him why … and I'll never forget what he told me. 'I want to know everything I can before I die.' He was so resigned to it … it was all I could do not to try to start the rebellion right then and there. He reminded me of Amp in a lot of ways. The Capitol sends these good, sweet, smart kids to die … for no reason. I'm ready to die so that kids aren't sacrificed for cheap entertainment."

"Cut," Cressida calls, but this time she sounds satisfied.

"I know that was hard, Tony," I say and squeeze his hand. I expect him to say something flirty, to the effect that he needs comforting. But he just nods and leans into me, and I wrap my arm around him and put my head on his shoulder.

We already taped mine some time ago. I don't have anything heart wrenching like what Tony has, or Thresh has, or Stephen has. No friends killed in the Arena, no desperate fight for survival or parents dying of easily cured illnesses or murdered by the Capitol for their faith. I just know that, for as long as I can remember, I've watched kids like me die for no reason, and I've seen people barely eating enough to get by (and it's much worse in other districts) and I finally have the opportunity to do something about it.

"You two can go now," Cressida says. "We've got plenty to work with." I take Tony's hand and our fingers interweave as we walk out of the room. We start to make our way to my quarters – he always walks me home before he heads to his quarters. Based on his reputation, I didn't expect him to be such a gentleman. He hasn't pressured me at all.

We get to my door and I expect to say a long good night in the hallway. "Can I stay, just for a while?" he asks. He asked the same thing when he told me about Amp for the first time. Like I said, I remember seeing it – but it hadn't occurred to me until then that Tony knew him, let alone that they were best friends.

"Sure," I say, knowing it's hard for him to talk about, and I let him in.

He sits on the chair by my bed, watching my television absently. It hums with the same program the Districts see most of the time – every now and then it shows announcements from the higher ups. I usually turn it off, but he likes having the noise. I start to brush out my hair. "I love you, Shale," he says, all of a sudden. He's never said it before. I almost drop my brush.

"I love you too, Tony," I say slowly, turning to face him.

"I … I don't think I can lose you," he says cautiously, and I know where this is going.

"You're not stopping me from going on missions," I say adamantly. I've been on a few – cutting lines and laying new cables per Beatee's pre-written instructions to maintain our control over the airwaves in most of the country. Sometimes we can get 1 and 2 and the Capitol, other times it's only the rest of the districts.

"I know. I'm just stating the fact I don't want to lose you. Forgive a guy for stating the truth," he says, and I'm glad to see he's joking around again, even though he's obviously just backpedaling.

"For what it's worth, I don't think I can lose you either," I say honestly, and sit on the bed. I know what he's been working on in his lab – even before he had the arc reactor perfected.

"I'll do my best," he says, and I realize that's what I should have said. I pull him closer to me – onto the bed with me.

"If … If one of us does die … I don't want to die knowing there were things I never knew, or if you die I don't want to think …" He knows what I'm saying and he puts a finger to my lips, and lays me down on the bed. For once neither of us has any words.


	6. Sacrifice (Phillip)

Chapter 6

Sacrifice

Phillip

I walk along the halls with Stephen. The boy is gloomy and he looks at his feet, not saying a word for most of the walk. I don't blame him – he gets puberty on top of the rebellion, the experiments, and losing his first love. I don't envy him.

We walk past Shale's quarters and Tony comes out – it's very early in the morning, and the only time Tony's ever been up this early is probably when he's stayed up all night, which I'm guessing is what just happened. His clothes are distinctly wrinkled like they've been crumpled on the floor for a few hours, and his hair is disheveled. And he smells like sex – that's really the tipoff. "Uh, hi," he says awkwardly.

"Hi," Stephen says awkwardly back. He's old enough to understand what happened – and honestly that's probably the only reason Tony's at all embarrassed. If it was just me he'd shrug and go on his merry way.

"Well, I guess we should be going," I say quickly, and pull Stephen along as Tony nods and skulks off.

Now the silence between us is awkward. As we ride the elevator down to the cafeteria for breakfast, I try to end the silence. "Maybe they were doing puzzles," I say, even though I know he'd old enough to know better.

"Yeah, puzzles," Stephen says, giving me a skeptical look.

We step into the cafeteria and get in line for oatmeal, eggs, and questionable bacon. No matter how questionable it is, Stephen loves it – of course he does. He's from a wealthy district but without his parents, he almost starved all his life, and he'll eat pretty much anything we put in front of him. We sit down and I watch him eat for a while, while I'm lost in my own thoughts. It's a big two months for the cause that could change everything. "Do you think we'll do any good?" Stephen asks after eating his breakfast like he'll never see food again. I look up at him, unsure how best to answer the question. I support the objective of the mission, but I'm against sending the tributes to do it. Especially Stephen. He looks so tired as he asks me. He always does anymore.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"What do you think killing President Snow will really accomplish?"

"Everyone needs a leader, Stephen. The Capitol doesn't have many to spare. He's been President as long as anyone in living memory can remember – it'll be a huge shock." It would be if they sent me, Hill, Danvers, and some well chosen foot soldiers as well … but I know there's value in propaganda and the symbolic act of death coming from the tributes. But even knowing that value I don't like it.

"So you think it'll help?" Stephen asks.  
"I think it'll help a lot," I say honestly. If it succeeds. "I wouldn't support it otherwise." It's not like I have a huge say or anything – but I'd be honest with him if I didn't think it would work. He looks relieved – he trusts me.

I was furious when I heard the decision not to help. Fury had us all gathered on the bridge. "President Coin has decided that it would not be in the best interest of our cause to intervene in the current Hunger Games." We sat there in silence for a moment while that sank in. I thought of the kids I had been watching all this time, assuming we were going to go in, guns blazing, to save them.

"Sir!" I protested. I was (and still am) a lowly foot soldier, and one from District 13 – and not one that went mad from freedom. So speaking out of turn was completely unexpected – Fury turned his eye on me. He knew my work, and knew I was known for following orders to the letter. "You have something to say, Private?" Blood rushed to my cheeks and I felt all eyes on me, but I stood my ground.  
"I do. We shouldn't leave them," I said adamantly, staying where I was and standing at attention.

"Do you think this is something I want to do, Private?" He's not from 13. We suspect he lost someone to the Games, maybe even was a tribute under another name, but none of us have ever been brave enough to ask.  
"Of course not. But I think it's a mistake from a strategic point-of-view, sir."

"How do you figure?"

"We lose Howard, we lose a lot of possibilities," I say.

"You don't think Howard will want to help even more if his son dies?"  
"I've been watching – it's not just Tony. A very good number of these kids could be important as symbols …"  
"Any particular reason they're not more useful as martyrs, Coulson?" he asked. I knew he was asking as a legitimate question – he wanted to know if I thought this out before I spoke. I had – I'd been watching Stephen. I admire him for having the courage that many adults don't have.

"The boy from 5 – Stephen – he's a leader. He's even leading some of the older kids. And Rue is kind, brave, resourceful, a big sister to five little siblings … exactly the kind of kid you _don't_ want sacrificed in this damn thing. And the girl from 12, Katniss – I think she might be the Mockingjay we've been looking for. They're already calling her the Girl on Fire. And Clint – the world wants him to be safe. They watched his brother win for him, they want Duke's sacrifice to mean something. And the others – you could use them as martyrs, but you could also be the one who gave them a chance to live." He stood back, smiling a little bit.

"And that's exactly why we're going to ignore President Coin's thoughts on this matter," he said, and I knew that was his decision all along, he just wanted to see if any of the grunts would question Coin.

He promoted me that day, and again the day we brought the tributes back.

"Why are you asking me?" I asked Cressida, not understanding what value I could possibly be to the rebellion. I felt awkward talking to the camera – I was perfectly fine bossing the kids around to talk to it but I felt weird and out of place in front of it. I knew if we ever got Katniss on our side, getting her to do this would be like pulling teeth.

"You're an everyman, Phillip – everyone loves an everyman." I doubt that, but I sigh.

"Honestly … I don't know what I can say. If I had my way, the kids wouldn't be going on this mission. They're brave, they're smart, they're talented, they're determined … but they're kids. I thought the point of this all was so that the powers that be would _stop_ sacrificing kids."  
"You don't think the rebellion is a more worthy cause than cheap entertainment?"  
"Of course it is, but they're still kids."  
"It's their choice, Phillip – that has to count for something."  
"Maybe. Look, I have complete faith in them, and I'd be fine putting them in front of the camera and having them do some stuff behind the lines for show but … we're going to have to do awful things to win this – a lot of necessary evil. The older kids, fine, like you said it's their choice and they're technically adults – but Stephen's thirteen and Shale's barely sixteen. They shouldn't see any of that." I hesitate. "You're not going to show this to Fury are you?" Cressida laughs.

"No Phillip – no worries there."

"I hope in the end it doesn't matter – the Capitol may have more soldiers than us, but we've got the innovation, and our soldiers aren't downtrodden and they have a better cause to fight for," I said, remembering I'm supposed to be being inspiring. "In the end, we're going to win."

"Thanks Phillip – I think you've been more help than you think," she said and shook my hand.

After breakfast I take Stephen down to the labs, wondering how rough it'll be today. We enter the lab's "front room" – just a simple, circular room where I bring Stephen and then they take him somewhere above my clearance. Dr. Erskine acknowledges me with a nod and a cheerful, "Good morning Phil." He and Stephen are the only ones who call me that – Stephen picked it up from him. I don't mind. "How are you today, Stephen?"

"I'm fine," Stephen lies. Erskine sees through that – of course he does – and raises an eyebrow but doesn't press for anything further.

"Today's the big day," he says.

"Today?" I ask, surprised. I'm not sure if I'm more worried because of the risk of this last step or excited that it's going to be over soon.

"Yes – with the new Stark invention we finally have enough power," Erskine explains, and my heart races – were they stalling all this time waiting for enough power?

"Well, good luck," I tell Stephen and Erskine – mostly Stephen – and turn to go.

"Wait – I think you deserve to see this," Erskine says, putting a hand on my shoulder.

For the first time, I'm allowed to follow.

We're led into a huge circular room with stadium style seating. There's a big holding tank or something right in the middle, with all kinds of wires and tubes going into it. The sight of it makes me nervous. "If you'll take a seat up there, Phil," Erskine says, motioning to the seats. I climb up and take a seat beside the grumpy old man I've heard so much about but never actually met.

"Colonel Phillips," I say, extending a hand.

"There a reason they called you in, Lieutenant?" he asks, noticing the badges that indicate my rank on the collar of my uniform.

"I am not sure, sir," I say respectfully – I suspect it's because Erskine is the only other person in the URF who remembers Stephen is barely thirteen-years-old and he wants him to have a friend present, but I don't say that. I'm surprised the camera crews aren't there – but then again they probably don't want to give away anything about the process to the Capitol.

Stephen takes off all his outer clothes and climbs in, with some help from Peggy Carter – one of the science officers I don't usually see. I notice he blushes a little as he hands her his pants, and I smile to myself. Howard Stark is standing by a huge control panel wearing safety goggles – the fact he's wearing more safety equipment than Stephen inside the pod doesn't exactly put my mind at ease.

All of the science officers and Director Fury file into the room – Fury notices me and nods. I'm annoyed I wasn't told this was happening today, but that's Fury for you.

I watch as Dr. Erskine injects one of Stephen's lines with something. "That wasn't so bad," Stephen says cheerfully.

"That was just some prophylactic penicillin," Erskine says. I find myself worrying even more, wondering why he needs antibiotics. But of course I don't show any of that worry – I keep a straight face and look ahead at Stephen, looking so small in his little pod. They shut him in, and I take a deep breath. He wants to do this – it's his choice, I tell myself.

"Final treatment, August Twentieth, 75th Peace Year," Erskine notes and steps back. We've tried to think of a different terminology for the years … but all the ideas have been over the top. We may go back to the AD that was in use before the Devouring … but we're not even sure we'd get it right, so few records remain from the time of the wars, famines, plagues, and natural disasters. "Mr. Stark – if you will."  
"Phase One," Stark says, and pressed a button. Liquid begins to fill the pod and I almost ask to make sure it doesn't go too high but I figure someone's had the sense to make sure it doesn't get so high Stephen drowns and I don't want to embarrass General Fury by questioning his science officers in the midst of an important moment.

"I am now powering up the machine using Tony's … using Anthony Stark's arc reactor as a power source," Stark says, and presses some buttons on the control panel. "I've allowed for connectivity to the ship's main power supply should we require additional power." I don't feel that's safe but, again, I sit back, the good little District 13 foot soldier I've been since the one and only time I questioned Fury.

I wait with baited breath as the machine Howard's standing by begins to hum and then roar, and bands of light shoot into the pod. Then my heart stops – Stephen starts to scream. This terrible cry of pain and fear, and I'm out of my seat before I can stop myself. I'm not the only one responding with fear – Erskine looks deeply concerned as he looks over Stephen's vital readings and Howard jumps, his hand heading toward the control panel.

"Howard, stop the experiment," Carter says quickly, and she keeps the fear out of her voice but there's no mistaking how urgent the command is.

"NO! I'm fine!" Stephen calls, his voice muffled by the pod. "I'm fine it just …" he cries out in pain again, but it's not as bad.

"His vitals are stable," Erskine says, and that brings me some relief but not a lot. I grab the rail in front of me and hold to it so my knuckles are as white as can be, and I wait.

Time ticks by slowly, with occasional cries from Stephen, which is always followed by Erskine checking his vitals and asking Stephen if he's sure he wants to continue. The lights flicker and I hear ominous sounds from the engine and I get ominous warnings about the reflector panel in my earpiece – Fury hears them too and steps outside to give orders. We definitely can't afford to do this often, and I'm still upset we're using it on a boy whose role is mostly symbolic instead of a man with training who could do heavy damage. But mostly I'm worried about Stephen.

Finally, it's over. The lights stop flashing and Howard notes he's draining the fluid. "Stephen?" Erskine calls. No answer. I know he must be okay, since Erskine notes his vitals are fine, but the fact he doesn't respond worries me.

"I'm okay," Stephen finally answers, and Carter opens the door.

Out climbs a young man that the boy who climbed in couldn't have become even with years of training and better medicine. He's at least six inches taller and looks like he could have been raised a Career in District 1 or even 2, with arms and a chest almost as large as Thresh's – his boxers are shorter and tighter than when he went in and he stands with his hands folded over his crotch, trying to look casual about it. He looks three years older, and I bet the extensive medical exam he's about to get will reveal his asthma's gone, and so is all the scar tissue from his attacks. I stand up and hurry down the stairs, but I'm halfway down when Fury comes back in. He sees Stephen and smiles. It's a tiny smile but it's the most we see out of him.

"Congratulations, doctor," he tells Erskine, stepping forward and shaking his hand.

"How you feeling, son?" he asks Stephen.

"I feel great, sir," Stephen says. He's sweating like he's just run a mile and still covering himself shyly, but in spite of that he's smiling. Even his teeth look better.

"Coulson, with me," Fury says, and I follow. But not before reaching over to clap Stephen on the shoulder.

"Proud of you, Stephen," I say.

"I haven't done anything yet …" he says, and I don't have time to argue with him.

I follow Fury into the hall, only to be told to go about my business calming down people who technically outrank me following the temporary power outages to some systems. I spend the rest of the day running all over the ship passing on orders and giving some of my own.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Stephen's boxers are tighter because his thigh muscles are bigger. He's thirteen in this continuity you pervert lol.

Yeah I'm sparing a buttload of characters by the adaptation. Sue me.


	7. Sympathizer (Betty)

Chapter 7

Sympathizer

Betty

Dad was laughing, cheering, as the boy from 4 was almost decapitated by an axe. I looked down at my homework, ignoring what was happening on the screen. I understood why the Games were necessary, but I didn't enjoy them. Dad liked to bet on kids from District 7 – the odds on them were pretty long, but they were usually stronger competitors than the tributes from other outlying districts, so every now and then he got a lot of money from them. Johanna Mason's victory paid for our apartment for two years. He bet on the boy from 7 that year, even though he was up against a lot of other strong competitors. Of course, he was thrilled with this turn of events – the boy from 7 had just killed a boy from one of the stronger districts less than ten minutes into the Games. I liked the boy, but for different reasons – he seemed genuinely nice, and I had to admit I thought he was cute.

As the Games went on it became clear Dad's bet wasn't wise though – I don't think Spruce had it in him to kill anyone (except in the heat of the moment). I watched the way he desperately worked to save Stephen from an acute asthma attack, and the way he didn't mind the kids sleeping on him like a pillow, and found myself caring about the Games more than I ever had before – the feed on Spruce was always pulled up on my computer, and I was hoping for an extraordinary turn of events that would let him win. When he was trying to get epinephrine for Stephen, I tried to get it to him – but I didn't have enough money to pay the gift tax. I told my dad I was just hoping for another show like what happened at the start of the Game, but the truth was that I was in love with him. I was watching when they announced the rules change – I saw the look in his eyes and knew he gave up. I hid in my room under the pretense of needing to concentrate on my homework and sobbed and cursed the Gamemakers for siding against him. I cried myself to sleep, only for Dad to wake me up a few hours later. "You're gonna want to see this," he said, and I turned on the screen in my room in time to see Spruce being dragged through the forest by Anthony Stark. I stared in horror for the next few hours as Stark's plan came to fruition. I saw all the little ones (and Cato and Peeta) all pinned up and I knew even if Spruce won against the older kids he'd have to kill them, and I didn't think he could do it. I hoped that he could … but hated Stark for putting him in that position.

I, like everyone else, could only watch and wait when the screens went black. I sat there, stunned. There had never been such a massive technical difficulty during the Games in my memory – and of course we realized later it was nothing of the sort.

I waited with bated breath, hoping that somehow, someway, Spruce would come out on top in the fight, and find it in him to do what he had to do to win. But when the picture came back, Peeta was the only one left. I broke down into tears once again, and skipped classes that day (the first time I'd ever done it) while I hid in my room. Dad had no idea why – I told him I was sick.

A few months went by – autumn turned into winter. I graduated from university during the winter semester and started work with the lab almost immediately – I'll get more extensive training later, but I needed the money and practical experience first. I did a lot of bench work, but I also took care of the test animals. It was usually exciting, but at times it got dreary and upsetting – especially when the animals didn't fare well in the experiments. One of the monkeys would die and I'd hold it for a while, thinking it deserved something better than the incinerator. But I did my work like I was supposed to.

And then … three months after I started working there, Spruce was there, on my table. I was overjoyed to learn he was alive, but at the same time I knew they were going to use him as a human subject for the super soldier project. I'd seen what happened to Schmidt when he tested it on himself, and I was terrified for him. It was all I could do not to cry when I saw him, starving and with terrible wounds, half-naked and unconscious on my table. I looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, then hurried to the stock room. I injected him with a very small amount of morphine – it wasn't enough that they'd notice a change in behavior but it would dull the pain. He stirred as I cleaned him up – I swallowed my tears and bit back all the questions I had. Except one. "Who's Rebeckah?" I asked. I was thinking to myself that, of course he had a girlfriend, maybe even a wife. How could he not? And I was thinking about the girl who had to be missing him. But then he said Rebeckah was his mother who passed away, and I wondered if he had brothers and sisters who were starving without him. But I couldn't stand to know if that was the case, so I just got him as clean as I could before I sent him off to be treated like a lab rat.

I watched them carry him off, then immediately told my supervisor I was sick and I needed to go home.

I took the bus back to the home I share with Dad, and stared absently outside the window. Instead of thinking of science or whatever petty preoccupation I usually thought of, I thought of the boy I had loved in the Arena. I wished then that I had asked if he had brothers and sisters, because I couldn't stop thinking that he might, and that's why he couldn't hurt Rue or Stephen, or even just leave them. I wondered if, even though she's not the name on his arm, if he does have a wife in District 7 who thinks she's a widow. I've heard they get married young in the Districts, but I don't know how young – they might wait until after they're too old to be Reaped. But then again, in at least one case they didn't – one of the boys Duke Barton killed had a wife and a baby girl at home. I tried to tell myself they would have mentioned it in at some point before the Games if Spruce had a wife and especially if he had children, but I couldn't quite convince myself, and I kept thinking about some little baby lying on a bed crying for the father it would never see again.

I almost missed the stop. I got off just in time and made my way to the door, trying to keep my emotions in check just a while longer. I turned the key in the lock and went inside. As soon as I was inside the tears fell from my eye. I wasn't sure when Dad would be home, so I hid in my room and tried to get hold of myself.

For months on end now, I've been cleaning him up before they take him to experiment on him. I know what they're doing, and I want to explain it to him … but I don't think it'll help. I smuggle painkillers from the stockroom and give them to him – the people who take inventory just assume some of the addicts who work in the research complex are taking more than usual, and the blame falls on them. I only give him morphine and other opioids when it's really bad – I don't want to get him addicted on top of everything else.

We talk a little bit sometimes. I know now he's an only child, and that he's not married. Both of those are a relief – but the more I know about him the more I'm afraid every time they take him. I think of the monkeys I've thrown in the incinerator.

He smiles when he sees me. I love his smile, even though it breaks my heart – it doesn't take much to make him happy. At least he's conscious enough to undress himself today. There's fresh wounds from being whipped on his back – along with all the old wounds he's gathered in the months since he's been here. I know it's close to the end of the process – we'll start seeing results soon, if all goes well. And I can't stop my tears anymore. I turn my head away from him and try to keep my voice steady as I talk. "What's wrong?" he asks, and he sounds so concerned over me that it breaks my heart even more.

"Why don't you just tell them what you know?" I ask, knowing that won't spare him from what's coming in the experiment, but it would keep him from being whipped any more. They might even move him into decent quarters.

"I don't know that much to tell, honestly," he says, somewhat pathetically. "And I'm holding on to what little I do know," he adds, more confidently.  
"Why?" I ask, not understanding his resolution. "These rebels – they don't care about you. They left you."

"They didn't have a choice. I don't know if they know I'm even still alive," he says.

"Why are you defending them? Just tell the interrogators the truth," I say and put my hands on his temples, tears streaming down my face now.

"I can't do that," he says. "Don't you understand? The government sent me to die – me and hundreds of others – and the rebels at least tried to save me, and did save some of the others. I owe the rebels for that." I shake and internally I admit he's right but I don't dare say it out loud in case there's a voice recorder in here. Which there probably is.

"Please … Spruce … I know you're noble and selfless but … please, just be selfish on this, please," I beg him. He shakes his head. Blood rushes to my cheeks and my heart pounds – I hate him for being so stubborn. But I also love him for it.

It becomes my personal mission to persuade him. And it's what I want to do anyway.

I kiss him, more passionately than I've ever kissed anyone. I don't mind the dirt and the grime from how they've been making him live all this time. He's surprised, judging by the way he hesitates, but doesn't protest. He kisses me back when the shock wears off, but he's clumsy and obviously inexperienced. He has no idea what to do with his hands and he's overenthusiastic with his tongue. But I don't mind that either.

I remember where I am and break away. If we had gotten caught, I would have told the truth, but I don't know how much help the truth would have actually been. I pull away just in time. I hear the door open and Dad comes in. Spruce wisely pretends to be asleep. "What's taking so long?" he asks.

"Nothing, Dad … just a lot of new wounds to deal with," I say, with my head turned so he doesn't see I've been crying.  
"Well … get a move on," he says shortly. "We haven't got all day."  
"Sorry Dad, I'll try to work faster," I say, and busy myself cleaning the fresh whip marks, and he leaves.

"That was close," Spruce whispers after the door is shut. I almost laugh – talk about stating the obvious.

"I know you probably won't change your mind but … will you think about it, at least?" I ask. To my surprise, he nods.


	8. Something to Remember Him By (Katniss)

Chapter 8

Something to Remember Him By

Katniss

The day after the announcement of the Quarter Quell, I started training. More accurately, at five o'clock in the morning of that day, Coulson hauled me out of bed (which I don't really mind since I was usually up at that time to start hunting before Prim was Reaped) and led me on a torturous run through the halls of the base. He was impressed with how well I did, and actually smiled a little bit as he took me up to the roof for weapons training.

Weapons training is conducted by Lieutenant Hill – a particularly cranky woman, also from District 13. A gun's very different from a bow and arrow, and she constantly complains about my aim. Therefore, I'm very glad when Tony (who doesn't have to train every day because he's already so well-trained, lucky creep) interrupts. "Hey Catnip," he calls, and, as usual, I want to punch him.

"Private Everdeen is busy, Mr. Stark," Hill says, annoyed.

"I know – I won't take long," Tony says. He's carrying two packages of some kind. "But Duke Barton was willing to provide us something very … useful from a symbolic point-of-view."

"When did Duke Barton get on board with the cause?" I ask, annoyed. I'd like to talk to him – we were in almost exactly the same situation, after all. Tony ignores my question.

"Remember the crappy bow Clint made for you?" he asks. He has no way of knowing I still have it.

"Yeah, why?" I ask casually, trying not to look affected by the question.

"You know how it was really bad and you could barely shoot with it?"  
"Yeah … I mean … I gave him crap over it … but it's better than what I could do, with what we were given in the Arena. I was just amazed we could shoot with it as well as we could."  
"So would you like to see what he could do when he had time and the right materials?" Tony asks and holds out one of the packages. I take it and unwrap it, and find a beautiful, very well-made bow, made from dark wood. I take it and hold it in my hands, feeling the balance of it. Tony hands me a dull practice arrow from the other package he's been holding. I turn and look at the targets we shoot with bullets. I notch the arrow and pull back the string – it's a perfect amount of resistance – and let it go. The arrow isn't quite on center, but it's very close – Tony hands me some more practice arrows, and it only takes two more shots to adjust to this bow. It's a beautiful piece of work. Clint really did know what he was doing. There are tears in my eyes that I refuse to let fall.

"Why did you give me this?" I ask, even though I already suspect the motive.

"You're going to use it to kill President Snow. It's only fitting the old monster should die from a weapon made by a tribute," Tony explains. "Besides … I thought you'd probably want it," he adds, more gently.

"Thank you Tony," I say, and rest my cheek against the curve of the bow. I picture the hours Clint must have spent, finding and carving down the right piece of wood and bending it just so, and drilling the holes for the drawstring. It's definitely been used – the bow is worn where arrows were notched and the string is worn where his fingers were, and I think of the coyotes and wolves he must have shot with it. Maybe even a mountain lion or a bear. I think of him smiling that cocky half-smile as he took aim, and it hurts but in a good way.

Since I already know the bow so well and I'll be using a gun for most of the mission, I have to return to gun training, which is followed by lunch and then stealth training. In short, it's a long, long day, and I'm exhausted when I stumble back to my quarters. I take Clint's bow and hang it over the bedpost opposite the one he made in the Arena. Seeing them both as I undress for a shower, once again, hurts but in a good way.


	9. I Hate Magic (Peeta)

Chapter 9

I Hate Magic

Peeta

Of course I told Haymitch about the hammer.

I had no idea who else to tell – Mom would probably slap the hell out of me for doing drugs if I told her what happened, she'd never believe me in a million years. Dad would say, "That's nice, Peeta," and go back to baking, like I was six-years-old and still making up stories. I didn't even think of anyone else to tell – and if I did, Gale would probably kill me.

I didn't think Haymitch would believe me either – and he sure didn't act like he did. He laughed and asked if Gale and I accidentally ate some hallucinogenic mushrooms or something.

But I guess you'll try anything once when you're drunk.

Mom, Dad, Rye, and Whit are all at the bakery already – I had more dreams and was up all night last night and Dad convinced Mom to let me sleep in, but now I'm up, woken by a freak lightning storm, and getting ready to go do my share. I'm sitting there in my house, eating breakfast and minding my own business when Haymitch busts in. I stare, mouth open, with a piece of toast halfway to my mouth. He's wearing some kind of silvery armor and a red cape, and carrying the hammer. "I don't know why you said this was hard to pick up," he slurs. "It was easy peezy." He looks down at his arms, apparently noticing the armor for the first time. "The hell am I wearing?" Then he passes out cold in my living room. I decide I'm still dreaming.

Apparently it's a nightmare because there's a knock on the door. I look through the peephole, hoping it's Gale or Prim – the only two people I can trust with the hammer. Of course it's not one of them – it's a Peacekeeper. I say a few of the kinds of words that make Dad say, "Peeta!" and go to try to hide Haymitch. I can move him just fine, but of course there's the issue of the hammer. Haymitch is close enough to the couch I can throw the afghan we use to cover up when it's chilly over the hammer and look like a slob. I throw the afghan and drag Haymitch into the kitchen – I just hope the Peacekeeper doesn't search too thoroughly. And by that I mean I hope he doesn't search at all.

"Hello Officer," I say with a way-too-big and very suspicious smile as I open the door, still huffing and puffing from dragging Haymitch.

"Hello," the Peacekeeper says, raising a brow. He's not much older than me, but his hairline's already receding. He's not one I've seen before. He speaks in an official-sounding monotone.

He steps inside and past me, eyeing the afghan suspiciously.

"Can I help you?"  
"I'm looking for Haymitch Abernathy," he says without turning to face me. Behind his back I mouth every curse word I know – including the ones from other districts that I learned on accident.  
"Next door," I say, when I can speak without my voice being strangled.

"I checked – I thought he might be visiting," the Peacekeeper said, turning to face me.

"Nope," I say, but I know he can tell I'm lying.

"So the person whose boots I see sticking out from around the corner to your kitchen isn't Haymitch Abernathy?" he asks.

"Uh … Yes. Yes it is," I say reluctantly.

"You know it's a crime to lie to a Peacekeeper?"  
"I know Officer and I'm sorry I just …" And because the day isn't bad enough yet, Gale decides to come bursting in at that moment. "Don't they teach you to knock in the Seam?" I ask, my temper short from worry. Gale sees the Peacekeeper and turns to leave.

"Remain," the Peacekeeper barks, and Gale freezes. "Step inside and shut the door please." Gale does as he's told, but doesn't look happy.

The Peacekeeper steps over to the afghan and throws it off. "What is this?" he asks. We both keep our mouths shut tight – all though our willingness to die over it will probably be a tip off. "If I wake up Haymitch what will he tell me it is?"

"Good luck with that," I say with a laugh. He takes out two pairs of handcuffs and has us cuff ourselves to each other and handcuffs Gale to the coffee table while he goes into the kitchen. Gale tries to drag me and the coffee table, to very little success and a very loud noise.

"I will shoot you both here and now," the Peacekeeper calls, and he sounds like he means it.

One cold glass of water later, Haymitch is awake. "What's going on?" he slurs drunkenly.  
"You tell me – where'd you get the armor?"  
"It rode the lightning."

"It rode the lightning," the Peacekeeper repeats skeptically. I'm surprised he and Haymitch are on such good terms.

"When I picked up the hammer."  
"The hammer that's currently in Mr. Mellark's living room?"  
"Yeah that one."

"Okay Haymitch." He half-drags, half-carries Haymitch back into the living room. Haymitch laughs when he sees us.

"They're cool, Coulson. I vouch for them."

"Right. Boys – how do you feel about the Capitol?" I hesitate, but Gale opens his mouth immediately, apparently having decided he's going to die anyway.

"They're a bunch of filthy pigs and you're even worse for serving them." Oh we're so dead anyway – I might as well say it too.

"They killed Katniss – they killed lots of good people for no reason. They're disgusting – they make themselves sick just to eat more food, and Haymitch told me what they did to his family and why. Or at least the rich people are disgusting … I guess I could say I only hate the powerful people who could change it but don't." Gale rolls his eyes at the fact I'm so diplomatic even in my declaration of hatred – but I have a feeling the Capitol's poor are just as miserable as everyone else.

"Told ya!" Haymitch says before conking right back out, and I'm very confused.

"Would you die to make sure another Hunger Games never happened and reasonable measures against starvation were taken?" the Peacekeeper asks. We figure we're in it deep anyway and Gale just nods stoically and I say,

"In a heartbeat."

"Very good," the Peacekeeper says and takes off our handcuffs. "Lieutenant Coulson, United Rebel Forces, originally from District 13." There are many, many things wrong with that statement and I'm most definitely dreaming. "Now, you want to tell me what this hammer is and where Haymitch got the armor?"  
"He's probably right about it riding the lightning," I say. "It would make as much sense as anything else."  
"Uh huh."  
"It's … It's Thor's hammer," Gale explains.

"Thor. The Norse god of rainstorms. This is his hammer."  
"Yes," Gale says flatly.  
"Okay."  
"And only the worthy can lift it. I think he must have thought Gale could lift it since he's his great grandson …" I start.  
"You're Thor's great-grandson." Lieutenant Coulson looks at us like he's thinking about handcuffing us again and taking us to the asylum  
"Yes," Gale says flatly.

"Do you say anything else?" Coulson asks, and Gale clearly has no idea how to answer.

"But he can't lift it. I can't either. Prim can," I add quickly before he just completely stops believing us. Lieutenant Coulson looks at the hammer appraisingly.

"Primrose Everdeen – who weighs less than one hundred pounds – can lift this?" he asks skeptically.

"I've seen it," I say adamantly. Lieutenant Coulson bends down and puts both hands on the handle, and lifts it effortlessly. This day gets better and better. When he lifts the hammer, it sparks with electricity and a wind blows through the living room and Coulson drops it like it's a snake, and it makes a much louder thud than you'd expect. Despite the sudden drop, his face is totally calm.

"I hate magic," he says evenly.

"Me too," I agree, based on my limited experience.

"Wait – you've seen other magic?" Gale asks, and I think that should have been my question.

"Okay – while I wait for Haymitch to wake up so I can figure out what we're going to do with him and this hammer, how about I read you in?" We both nod eagerly, me because I'm glad someone else is working on figuring out what to do with Thor's hammer and Gale because he's eager to get into whatever spy shenanigans we just fell into. As for that, I'm less excited but … I like it better than dying in the Arena, so there's that.

**Author's Note**

I don't think the Norse gods would consider drunkenness to be a hindrance to worthiness. Originally I had Coulson also be unable to lift the hammer, but after careful consideration I realized that, if anyone is worthy, it's Coulson.


	10. Try to Win for Me (Johanna)

Chapter 10

Try to Win for Me

Johanna

I know I'm going back – there's no question about it, considering I'm the only female victor from District 7 whose still alive – there was an old female victor from 7 in the early years, but she's long gone.

I work on getting myself back in shape along with Blight – he's agreed he'll volunteer if he's not drawn, since the odds of Axel not being stoned during the Games are about the same odds as me getting hit by lightning twice and then getting hit with a gold meteor and Marty's way too old to be swinging axes – all though Spruce said he was still pretty spry when he chased him off his property. We climb trees and practice swinging axes and hammers and discuss our strategy. We've both been in on the Rebellion for months now – we know there's a possibility the rebels will come get us. We also know that it's by no means a guarantee and given how heavy security is going to be, it seems unlikely. We have our plan B – we save Primrose Everdeen, at cost of our lives if need be. The rebels want to use saving Primrose as a highlight for the rebellion – they want to show all of us willing to make Katniss' sacrifice mean something.

Marty is in on it too – he has all kinds of ideas for strategies. First he wanted to dredge up the old rumors about me and Blight and try to capture the magic of the District 12 lovers last year, but now he's stuck on the idea of tapping into Spruce Banner's martyrdom by claiming we were lovers. I'm young enough it wouldn't be that scandalous, and he thinks it'll make me seem … more wholesome, I guess, just by association with Saint Spruce.

There's riots again – Blight and Marty both stayed at my cabin so they didn't have to wade through the riots to get up here for training and planning. I sip black coffee and think of the one I saw when I went into town the other day. Most of them came empty-handed except for an ax and were content to wreck things at the Hall of Justice – but one of them had a huge sign. It was a painting of Spruce – a very good likeness of his face – with "Try to win for me," written on it. I should have known that would be the quote.

I might mock how they're making him into a saint – but the thing is I understand why he's become a symbol for 7. He was important to his village and several around it, and a very likeable person. I liked him – I still think about him sometimes. It doesn't hurt that he was a good-looking kid – even if he was too shy to put those looks to use (sometimes I catch myself thinking it was a good thing he was killed, because I think the kind of prostitution they expect from good-looking victors would have destroyed him). He was clearly ready to sacrifice himself for Rue and Stephen when the rebels intervened – a sacrifice necessitated because the Gamemakers blatantly screwed him over. He handled that axe well, even if he only used it once. He's a perfect martyr for us. I hear Rue's the same for 11 – a sweet, cute kid who knew her plants and stayed with her allies even when she could have run, struck down in the prime of life during an attempt to rescue her from a very likely death (and a certainty of being molested if she and Thresh won). I hear Clint's the same in District 10 – a funny, brave rancher who all but admitted to hunting coyotes (which are apparently the bane of their existence over there) and who looked out not just for the girl he was in love with but several others, and who went crazy trying to save his little district partner, killed in a way that rendered his brother's sacrifice all but meaningless. Katniss is the martyr for District 12 – a brave volunteer trying to save her little sister, whose sacrifice has been made as meaningless as Duke's. I wonder if or when we'll get to the point where they carry signs for all the tributes in all the Districts.

We go out to the woods to practice – even the Capitol doesn't see us here, I don't think. But then again, that's called into question the moment that Hill manages to show up here without any of us hearing her coming. I've just climbed to the top of a fifty-foot pine when I look down to see her. "Lieutenant Hill," I call down to her, annoyed. I wonder what they're going to tell us about the plan now, or not.

"Can you come down please?" she calls back. Well, hello to you too, sunshine.

I'm down the tree as quickly as I can be and still make it look graceful and effortless. I don't want to give Hill the benefit of seeing me making an effort. "Any news on the plan?"  
"We're fairly certain we have a distraction for you, and Haymitch has unexpectedly come into some additional aid," she says in the same flat tone she always uses. She even stands professionally – stock still and ramrod straight and with arms at the side.

"Additional aid?" Blight asks.  
"I'm not at liberty to elaborate at this time."

"Are you at liberty to do anything?" Marty asks cuttingly.

"Yes – if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take your testimony." That was the first time we noticed she was holding a camera.

"Testimony?"  
"About what happened to you after you won. The testimony of many other victors has already been collected. I had hoped we would wait until a better time, but Cressida feels it would be expedient to have the footage ready for immediate airing after the rescue." Or after we're dead if you don't come get us.

"All right – whatever you need," I say, somewhat reluctantly. I'm not sure I want to share my business with the world.

We make ourselves comfortable under the tree I was just climbing, and I give my story first. Hill's cold manner of questioning helps me pretend no one will see this, and the more I talk the easier it gets.


	11. Cost of Victory (Katniss)

Chapter 11

Cost of Victory

Katniss

I gasp when I see Stephen – he looks at least three years older than the kid I knew. All I knew was he's been out of training for a couple of days and there was some kind of incident with the power.

"Stephen?" I ask.

"It's still me," he says sheepishly. Even his voice is different – deeper, older. Shale embarrasses him by squealing and hugging him. Thresh is more reserved – he stands back with arms folded and nods approvingly.

Shale and I practice stealth training in real city conditions – they have a fake city set up for us somewhere in the wilds. Before we begin, Pym comes up and proudly shows us his new invention – stealth suits, incorporated into our armor. We try them on, and at first I don't really believe they're as good as he says, but Phillip shows us the footage he's taking to show Fury later – and we're by no means invisible but we blend nicely into the shadows. Meanwhile, the boys practice almost the exact opposite – making as much noise and smoke as possible. They give Stephen a fancy shield with a simple star design on it – I try to work out the symbolism but I have other things on my mind.

"Do you think you're ready to make your propo yet?" Phillip asks me when training is dismissed for the day. I shrug. "Fury wants them by the end of the week."  
"The mission isn't for another month!"  
"Cressida needs time to edit them – we want them as polished as possible."  
"I guess … I guess I'll go see her tomorrow."  
"Today," Phillip says, and I know I have no choice in it. He walks with me to the little studio where everyone else on the tribute team – now called the Avengers – has made their propo.

"I tried to give them one – they said they wanted more. They said my speech fell flat."

"That's not actually true. What they meant was it was too narrow," Phillip says. "Fighting for your sister is noble … but it should lead into broader goals, the way that Tony's and Thresh's …"  
"I know that," I interrupt. "That's the hard part – I know I want to make things better for _all_ the little brothers and sisters, not just mine, but I don't know how to say that without sounding corny."

"You'll think of something. Who knows – maybe we need corny. Maybe it would help if you also …"

"I'm not using Clint," I say, cutting him off. "I'm not playing the heartbroken star-crossed lover."  
"I thought you wanted to go with honesty," he says, and I almost punch him in the arm and then remember he's my superior officer and not my buddy.

"It's not like that … I don't know how I feel about him. I miss him, and I wish he was here … And maybe that's the worst part. I don't know if I would have loved him if we had the chance or we were meant to be just friends." He nods, understanding, and I think he's the first person who believes me about that.

We walk mostly in silence the rest of the way to the studio. "Hey Cressida," he says, sticking his head in. "If you've got a minute, Katniss is trying to figure out what she wants to say …" I had to fight not to roll my eyes – he's the one who dragged me here. "I think you should show her what else you're working on."

"Sure," she calls out, and Phillip turns to leave.

"Good luck, Katniss."

I'm summoned into the studio. They're in the process of editing – they're cutting down huge, long testimonies from previous victors into bite-sized propo pieces. "We'll air the whole versions too – but these will get people's attention and get them interested in watching the whole thing, and we can play them as reminders."  
"Why victors?" I ask, looking up at Duke Barton's face in some paused footage. "And isn't it dangerous to show these?"

"This is only for after … well after we see how the Games turn out, obviously," Cressida says. "But – we want to remind the nation that even the kids who survived the Hunger Games didn't survive unscathed." She hits play, and I watch – curious about the hardships of a victor. By the end, I understand why Haymitch drinks.

I listen to Finnick Odair – the dashing playboy from several years back – describe the way his childhood was stolen by the Career process and being blackmailed into sex with various power players at the Capitol, mostly women but not exclusively. He describes how the Careers in training in 4 play with spears instead of balls and drill for hours on end from the time they're old enough to speak – and from what he understands 4 isn't as bad as 1 and 1 isn't as bad as 2 in those regards. I think of Drusa and for the first time, I feel something for her, if all that's true. Finnick explains he volunteered at the tender age of fourteen because there didn't happen to be any eighteen-year-old Career Boys that year and he figured he had a better shot than any of the poor fishermen's sons who might get Reaped otherwise, and when he says it that way I'm more sympathetic. He doesn't spare the details about the forced prostitution and I feel dirty listening to it – especially when he describes having sex with Duke Barton for some woman who liked to watch. It sounds miserable for both of them – he manages to joke and say it might have been fun if they could have forgotten they were being watched and if either of them liked men but since they didn't it was just unappealing and awful … and the joke he tried to make falls incredibly flat.

I listen to Duke describe how most of the circus Clint mentioned to me in the Arena was murdered for performing without a license they didn't even know they had to have, and how he went to the Arena with a girl he knew and loved and had to kill her to make sure Clint didn't starve without him, since their parents had died years and years ago in an influenza epidemic, and they'd nearly starved until they joined the circus. He tells how he had a complete meltdown after he won – something they cut completely from the footage. How he was such a shell of himself that Clint had to take care of him for years – I think of the boy I knew and how his smile didn't reveal any of that and bite my lip at the thought of the pain he hid from me and everyone else. He was forced to be a prostitute too – not just with Finnick for the aforementioned pervert, but with a handful of powerful women before they got bored with him, since he was never as much of a heartthrob as Finnick, and he was allowed to go back to his ranch in peace. Worst of all, they wanted him to pretend to rape Johanna Mason for yet another pervert – but he told her a code phrase to use if she got too frightened to go through with it, and she used it at the last minute. "What would your brother think?" he had told her to ask. Duke breaks down at that point and says the only way he did any of it was thinking about how Clint would be killed if he didn't cooperate, and now that he's gone he doesn't think his life is worth anything unless he can sacrifice it to the cause.

I listen to Johanna Mason describe her three little brothers, David, Wes, and Spruce (not mine, but I think about how hard it must have been for her to mentor a boy with the same name as her little brother) and little sister Pine. Her mother died from complications in childbirth just after having Spruce, when Johanna was eight, and her father died in a logging accident when she was fourteen, and they were raised by their widowed grandfather from then on. She was Reaped two years later, and won for her little siblings and grandfather. On her Victory Tour, the woman Snow hired as pimp so he didn't have to get his hands dirty (is a woman pimp still a pimp?) had Johanna's virginity auctioned to the man with the best political favor to offer, and the monster who wanted to see her get raped won. When she panicked and used Duke's code phrase, this horrible woman beat her and told her she better play along if she didn't want her family to suffer. She tried, but panicked again when she was next auctioned to a man she described as incredibly old and with especially frightening facial augmentations and who was very rough with her, and she broke his nose when he tried to take off her clothes. At that point in the video, she rolls up her sleeves to show her parents', siblings', and grandfather's names tattooed on her arms. I remember how my Spruce had his mother's name on his arm in almost the same place she has her mother's, and how Cinna explained to that other stylist that the people of District 7 get their dead loved ones' names tattooed, and I know before Johanna says anything else what happened to them. She explains coming home to District 7 to find her cabin in 7's victor's village empty. When she went (hurriedly) to her childhood cabin to check there, she found it on fire with all her little siblings and grandfather inside it, burned to death, probably after being drugged so they couldn't escape. However the fire was set, it wasn't easily put out – the other residents of the village were desperately trying to put out the flames, and in the end two other cabins (thankfully empty by then) caught fire and burned to the ground before they finally got it contained. I'm sickened to think what Snow had done to her in punishment for being a sixteen-year-old girl who didn't want to have sex with strange older men or be sexually assaulted for entertainment. "If he'd been smart, he would have had them killed one at a time – he didn't have anything to hold against me anymore then. My life I guess … whatever that's worth," she says flippantly. She hasn't cried this whole time, and I think that's the worst part, even worse than seeing Finnick, trained since he was a toddler to be tough, try (and fail horribly) to laugh it off and Duke, who seems very much like the macho type, break down in tears.

"Oh – Peeta …" I start to say, having a horrifying realization.

"Our inside sources say he hasn't been subjected to any sexual extortion at this time," Cressida says quickly, and I breathe a little easier, but I'm not any less angry.

I want to kill Snow now more than ever. My fists are tight little balls as I watch Johanna finish talking, and I'm sure they have more but Cressida can tell I've seen enough. "You should have shown me this when I got here," I say flatly.

"We didn't have it then – we only talked to Johanna yesterday," she says.

"I know what I want to say," I say. "I mean – I think you'll like it better this way."

"Okay," she says evenly, and leads me to the middle of the room. She adds just a little make-up herself – she apparently disagrees that I need the layers and layers of make-up most of the others seem to think I need. "Whenever you're ready," she says.

I take a deep breath. "If you had asked me what I was fighting for just a few days ago – I would have said I was fighting for my sister, to give her a better future. That's still true. But it's not all of the truth. I want a better future for my sister … for all the little sisters. And little brothers. For the orphaned older siblings struggling to feed their families. For all the kids who will be Reaped if we don't change anything, and the victors whose survival came at a terrible, terrible cost. For all the Avoxes, whose voices were stolen. For all the little girls like Rue, so they can grow up to chase their dreams. For the village healers like Spruce," and Prim, I add to myself. "Who should be able to go to school and be real doctors instead of being forced to go to the Arena to kill. For all the children that deserve to be children – not have their childhood ripped away by hunger or murder or training for murder. That's why I fight – not just to avenge the wrongs, but to set things right. I do it in honor of the fallen and the suffering." Cressida smiles.

"I think that will work," she says.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I have Duke's story written and posted on deviantart. I probably won't post it here because it goes into the sexual abuse of the victors and at a district orphanage and it's very, very rough. I'm providing the link but reader discretion is advised, especially for sexual abuse survivors. art/The-Cost-of-Victory-Part-I-387429726

So I had this thought about the canon story while I was writing this – would Snow or whoever he hires to run his victor prostitution ring have filmed or sold tickets to Peeta and Katniss's honeymoon or something? Because obviously the Capitol was rooting for them as a couple so they wouldn't want to come between them, but as beautiful as Katniss is described, it's hard to believe that they wouldn't have been subjected to some kind of prostitution, and they made a big deal about having the wedding in the Capitol …


	12. Costumes (Janice)

Chapter 12

Costumes

Janice

It's only my second year, but based on what I've seen so far, the stylists meet every year just before the Reaping to discuss bold new ideas for costumes – and then discard everything that's said and use the same old dumb ideas they always use.

I listen to the babbling, as usual. Cinna sits back, quietly meditating about what I'm sure are awesome, deep things to shut out the babbling with the serenity I wish I could accomplish. He's so gorgeous – if I wasn't with Hank I'd totally go for him. Or devil may care Tony. Or troubled but cute Duke. Or charming, flirty Finnick. There's way too many hot guys in the rebellion for my own good. But then I remember how sweet Hank is and how he's risking his life with the rebels as we speak and I think the other guys pale in comparison.

Finally, I'm able to get a word in edgewise. "I was thinking – maybe we could do something with the fact that our tributes are more mature this year," I say. "Because when they're young we're trying to capture their District's industry as a whole – but with older tributes we could be more specific, and try to reflect their actual lives."  
"What do you mean, Ms. Van Dyne?" Felicia asks – she did District 4 forever and she recently got demoted to District 7, and I think she's still mad about it.

"Like you're District 7, and Johanna was a woodcutter and, you know Blight's going to volunteer, Blight was a carpenter – you could have them actually dressed like a woodcutter and a carpenter." Instead of trees. "Gussied up of course." Felicia seems to like the idea – she raises an eyebrow (but the good way that comes attached to a smile) and nods. Cinna also seems to take notice – I'm so flattered he might think that something I say is a good idea. Of course he'll probably get the thing none of the others will – I want to remind the Districts that even though they're victors and they've gotten to live in fancy houses, they're still from the Districts through and through. I don't think the others take to my idea so much though – they seem bored with it.

"Where's the fun in that?" Selena, the woman who took Felicia's place in charge of District 4, demands.

"That's the whole point – the challenge and the fun would be in remaining faithful to what they actually wear in the Districts but making it exciting." When I put it that way, I guess it sounds better.

"I like the idea – it'd give us something different to do," Cordelia, who is in charge of District 10, says. Not all that different for her – she does a lot of cowboys anyway. But maybe they'll actually be pretty faithful to a thing called reality this time. Several of the other stylists murmur their agreement.

"Do you even know what electrical engineers wear, Jan?" Cinna asks me, but he's smiling good-naturedly.

"I can find out," I say, unfazed.

We discuss the idea further over the rest of lunch – it's very yummy, but I'm sad when I think that kids in the District are starving when they should have plenty of food. I pull up on my tablet what electrical engineers wear, and I can totally work with it. Almost all of the District 3 winners are engineers – the kids who are just lowly factory workers usually get killed in the Games.

I don't know if everyone is actually agreeing to do it or if the next few weeks we're going to be trying to bluff each other about the costumes and half the tributes will end up with their typical costumes, but it's worth a shot.

Tony Stark made a pass at me when he was my tribute – of course he did. I was warned. I shook hands with him.

"Janice Van Dyne."

"Tony Stark. I was kind of expecting some decrepit old lady with her face held together by silicone and plastic. This is an incredibly pleasant surprise," he said when I walked in. He was sitting on the table, already naked and completely un-self-conscious about it. Most of the tributes feel pretty neutral about us seeing them naked – but every now and then, you do get one who's body shy. Somehow, I knew Tony wouldn't be one of them.

"I bet it is," I said back. "Go ahead and stand up for me." My assistants already got his measurements but I just want to see for myself what I'm working with. He's muscular, for sure, but not unusually so – he could be mistaken for a tribute from 1 or 4, but not 2.

"So is there a Mr. Van Dyne? Or a Mrs. – I don't judge." I thought of Hank – I met him when he was working in Daddy's lab. He was some kind of prodigy – so smart in school they couldn't ignore him even though he was from the lower class. He finished school when he was ridiculously young, and he was working as a full-blown scientist by the time I was old enough to date him. We've been together for years, but we had to pretend to break-up so I wouldn't be suspected when he took off. I didn't know how much, if anything, Tony knew about the rebellion even though his Dad was in on it, so I just played along with him.

"No. We don't get married that young in the Capitol," I say, and I look him over as I start to visualize a costume. I'll have to meet with the stylist who's in charge of the girl too, but I have an idea it'll work for both of them.

"How young are you? Nineteen?" I'm surprised he called it down to the year – I thought he'd say something like "late teens, early twenties."  
"Yep – just turned nineteen three weeks ago."  
"I just thought it was really good surgery – they let you be a stylist that young?"

"I was part of a prep team for three years – then I got this promotion when Argentum retired."  
"Right to an inner district – you must be fabulous. Keep doing what you do, but I want to lodge a formal complaint."

"Oh?" I asked. He was breaking my concentration but I kind of liked it.

"Your assistants insisted on shaving my beard – I really kind of like my beard, it's sort of my trademark …"  
"Sorry, that's something the Capitol insists on. They want even the eighteen-year-old boys to look youthful."  
"I would argue that it would take much more than being clean-shaven to fool anyone into thinking of that hulk from 2 as a little boy." I laughed – he had a good point.

"I'll advise my superiors," I said, pretending to take his complaint very seriously. I took some of the blue fabric I'd been thinking about and started draping it over him, making a final decision about how I'm going to cut it.

"So, getting back on track, if there's not a Mr. Van Dyne – are you seeing anyone?" I swallow my loyalty and say,

"No." I try to change the subject quickly. "Are you married?" Even though I know he's not, and that's not at all common in the Districts. Getting married as soon as both members are too old to be Reaped, sure, but it's pretty rare (but not unheard of) for kids from the Districts to get married while they're still in the Reaping.

"No – I'm a little too young to tie myself down to one woman when there's so many beautiful ladies in the world … See I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to leave but there's a bar on the second floor of the training center …"  
"Sex with a tribute is a felony, Mr. Stark." Probably because of your father, I thought to myself.  
"See I was just talking drinks – you're the one that jumped to sex."

"I just assumed the apple didn't fall far from the tree." Howard's sexcapades are legend.

"Fair point."

He's really very cute and I didn't mind the flirting so much. Until he went _there_. "Am I to assume you were born with these?" he asked, running a finger over my wings. I swatted his hand away, and he saw the way my whole mood darkened. He hadn't really thought I was born with them – now he knew I was, and he was super curious.

"Did your parents do that on purpose?" Some people have their children altered in utero or genetically modified as embryos. It's almost always something they regret – fashion changes. And it's not what my parents did. But it wasn't any of his business, so I didn't answer. We spent the rest of the time in silence until I went to see his District partner, who was one of the body shy ones and who made no comment about my wings.

Every few years, wings are in – those are always the best years, because no one looks at me funny. In the off years, people look at me funny – surely wondering how I could be so behind on the times that I don't get them removed, considering I'm otherwise very fashionable. I tried once, shortly after they first grew when I was twelve, but they grew back – and it was so painful I didn't care to try again. It's probably a good thing I was born in the Capitol – I know what they'd call me in the Districts. A mutt in the agricultural districts and 12, an abomination in 7, a franken in the inner districts, a stitch in 6 and 8.

Of course, it's also a good thing I was born in the Capitol so I didn't have to go through a Reaping every year from the time I was twelve to the time I was eighteen or starve – and that's why I went along with Hank started telling me about the rebellion. I was surprised at first by the pictures he showed me of people who died of starvation – we knew they were poor in the Districts, but we weren't told they were starving. And the Games, of course, I saw for myself. I never liked them, even when I was little – I liked the parade and the interviews, but I hated watching the Games themselves. I guess I always knew they were wrong, but Hank's rebellion talk was what gave me the courage to admit it.

I have my part to play for now – they have someone much higher ranking than me giving them information, but sometimes stylists hear more, because people in power get careless around us. We also have an idea of how the tributes are going to do in the Arena. And of course, I have my little idea that may or may not take off.

But hopefully it will work out so that I can leave to be with Hank soon – it seems much more exciting where he is, and I want to do something more useful.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Janice is not actually Roman but I am running out of Roman names and I also wanted to have Jan's name be something recognizable instead of going way out like what I did with Drusa.


	13. The Reaping (President Snow)

Chapter 13

The Reaping

President Snow

The Reapings unfold predictably. Cashmere is chosen as the female tribute from District 1, and her brother promptly volunteers – of course he does – very much to her horror from the look of it.

Emilianus and Enobarria both volunteer – I was already told Emilianus would. I'm sure he suspects he's already the victor of the 75th Hunger Games – he's had the initial treatments, which will give him a physical edge, and the Gamemakers will do whatever they can to ensure he wins. He's a good soldier and always has been – his victory will show just how far obedience to the Capitol will get you, and, if the Districts know what's good for them, they'll forget their foolish notions of rebellion.

It's too bad that Howard Stark fled the night his rebels interrupted the last Games – I would have loved to send him to the Arena and had his gruesome death plastered across screens across the nation. As it is, I have to settle for Beatee – also a suspected rebel – and District 3's only female victor, Wiress – oh yes, I remember how she set the trap that killed Aurelius Romanov. Emilianus can run with his "For Drusa" nonsense when he kills her, and he'll have an excuse for the brutality he's so fond of with her.

I wanted Finnick drawn, and so he is. His little girlfriend Annie is drawn as well, also according to plan, but Mags decides to get brave and noble on us. Fair enough – Finnick cares about her, and with luck he'll get to see her die.

District 5 has been well enough behaved for the past two years, so that Reaping concerns me far less – I already know the male tribute will be Jack, since he's the only living male victor from District 5, and the female turns out to be Oleum.

District 6, inevitably, yields two opiate addicts. There's no pleasure in their deaths, but at least I'll have two less annoyances at future Games.

District 7 brings Johanna (I'd have her drawn if she wasn't the only female), and Blight volunteers before Cassius Finkelman can follow his orders to draw him. I'll have to talk to Mr. Hammer – I want to make sure her quaint little memorial tattoos are removed. I'm sure no one will notice, but mostly I want it done to break her – she'll make quite a scene, I'm sure. She'll probably try to bring up Spruce Banner, Healer, Saint, Martyr – we'll make sure to play the footage of him all but decapitating Doyle over and over again and find someone from Muleshoe village willing to paint a more unflattering picture of the young healer. The latter won't be hard – any idea of village solidarity or respect for the dead will rapidly lose attraction in the face of enough money to feed a few mewling brats for a few months.

District 8 and 9 yield no surprises – I did not request anyone specific from those. All though, in hindsight, it is very much to our advantage that Woof is drawn – I want the Districts to know that it's not just their children who are at our mercy, but their old, their feeble …

Speaking of feeble, Duke Barton volunteers before Marcellus van Pelt can even put his hand in the bowl – it was a one in two chance he'd be going anyway. That's really sort of a shame – his increasingly public meltdown since Clint's supposed death has been very entertaining, and he was always good with following orders, an excellent competitor and an obedient (if not popular) courtesan. The woman, of course, is Maria. Marcellus looks tearful when Duke steps onstage, having volunteered for the second time – soft old fool. It's actually a mercy to let Duke play again – he can die in the Arena and save himself the ignominy of taking his own life, all without ever knowing his brother was a traitor. Speaking of his brother, I'm sure the footage of Duke's death will go quite a long ways in breaking the younger Barton. We may be invading the rebel stronghold in just a little over two weeks' time.

Chaff and Seeder are the only living victors from District 11 – this saves me the trouble of arranging to have them drawn. District 11 has always been a troublesome district.

And then – District 12. Little Primrose Everdeen looks tragically brave standing on stage, waiting for them to draw the male. With any luck, this flame that Seneca foolishly started will be snuffed out along with the light in her eyes. I didn't bother to rig the Reaping – whether it's Haymitch or Peeta, it's a victory for the Capitol. In fact, I almost agreed to just let them send two males. But I can always have Haymitch "commit suicide" over the death of the only tribute he ever managed to save, or arrange a tragic "accident" for Peeta afterwards if he doesn't tow the line, and I wanted to make sure that Katniss Everdeen, wherever she's holed up with the rebels, understands that she can try to be brave, but in the end, there's no keeping anyone safe from me. Peeta is drawn, but Haymitch volunteers to take his place. They argue briefly, but Haymitch gets theatrical. He turns to Peeta and reminds him that he has family and that he can help take care of Gale's family (the identity of this Gale will be immediately researched) and Mrs. Everdeen. Haymitch, my old friend – I'm so glad you've done the right thing, nobly sacrificing yourself for the younger, clearly better person. I had a hand in making sure he was the only one of your tributes to ever win, of course – I always encouraged the Gamemakers to give District 12 and District 11 a particularly hard time.

Perhaps it is too soon to know, but I think these Games will be my best offering to Father yet.


	14. Mementos (Johanna)

Chapter 14

Mementos

Johanna

I force myself to breathe on the train – I'll get through this. I tell myself I'm no good to anyone panicked – if the rebels show up I can cry once I'm safe with them. Or once I'm dead … whichever happens.

We get there, and this time I don't bother to wave and try to ingratiate myself with the people who want to kill me.

There's not much time to congregate with the other tributes before they usher us off to be made pretty again, but I do see the drama from District 12. Haymitch insists on carrying his own trunk to his room – when the Capitol servants try to take it from him they're unable to lift it. Haymitch hurriedly takes it back and lifts it and the servants stare, stunned – it doesn't even look like it's that heavy for him. "Steroids!" Peeta says cheerfully with a way-too-big smile plastered on his face. The servants give him a skeptical look, but go about their business.

Once again, I submit to being waxed and endlessly scrubbed and basically tortured. I hear Blight hollering in the room next to me. "At least you're not as hairy as Spruce," I call to him with a laugh, thinking about how long it must have taken to get him the to the hairless-as-a-newborn baby state they seem to like around here. One of the prep team members raises an eyebrow and two of them exchange a look – I'm sure they want to know what occasioned my discovery of his hairiness, considering I can't really be judging by his arms considering we're always covered up in District 7 since it's always cold. My hair is cut and washed and I've been waxed everywhere, and the stylist herself steps in. She dismisses her prep team, which is sort of unusual. She was the stylist for District 4 when I won – I thought she was just filling in when she was Spruce and Juniper's stylist last year, but now I wonder who she ticked off to get "demoted."

"Do you have any of Spruce's things?" she asks me in a hushed tone after dismissing her prep team. I do – I took the few things I was given by the Gamemakers to his father in lieu of a body – glasses and a knit wool cap that I had had to wash a sickening amount of blood and what I think was brain matter out of – and the old drunk took the glasses and put them up on his mantle and sat down to drink another bottle of whiskey. At least he looked like he'd cried a little – based on what I found out about him from the villagers who took me to Spruce's cabin, I half expected him to be complaining about how he could have been living in a fancy cabin with better booze if his son had been a more willing killer. When I asked if he wanted the hat – the thing his son had actually worn before the Games – he looked at me like I was crazy and asked, "Why would I want that?" I sighed and held onto it – it sat in my living room for a year, a sick reminder of the Games, because it didn't feel right to throw it out. I thought about trying to send it to Stephen's family in 5, since Spruce had used it to help him, but then I remembered he was an orphan and I doubted very seriously that would be an official-enough reason for inter-District mail. I grabbed it off my coffee table at the last minute before the Reaping – to play along with Marty's crazy idea about saying we were lovers because why the hell not. I can tell them I've been sleeping with it on my pillow because it smelled like him or some crap.

"Why?" I ask, wondering why in the hell she would care if I took any of his things unless Marty's already been running his mouth and she's got his underwear or something and she thinks I should have it. (If that's the case I will murder someone.)

"Do you?"  
"Yes. I have the hat that was his token in my bag."  
"Do you think you could go up to your room and get it before the parade?"  
"Why?" I ask, starting to get creeped out.

"I want to incorporate it into your costume."  
"I'm going to be a tree wearing a hat?" I ask, and the mental image almost makes me laugh.

"No – a lumberjack." I'm surprised – we're actually going outside of District 7's comfort zone. Of course we'll probably look more like lumberjack-themed strippers but I'll take what I can get. Especially since, if she's incorporating Spruce's token, she's got a rebellious streak going on.

I'm about to leave when Justinian Hammer, one of Snow's toadies, shows up. I have no idea why he's here, considering he's in charge of weapons manufacturing. He builds some of the obstacles in the Games (which usually don't work), but that's his only connection to the Games. I bet he was thrilled Howard Stark turned out to be a traitor – Stark's tech worked so much better the Capitol always bought it rather than his, even though they had to pay to transport it and keep it secret during that transport. "It's so good to see you again, Felicia," he says, ignoring me completely. I start to walk past him to get the hat.

"Wait here, please," he says to me in the same tone you'd use on a dog. I really want to hit him but I contain myself. He takes me by the hands and rolls up my sleeves – I'm very tempted to break his jaw. I don't have any babies for the Capitol to kill this time.

"See – that's going to be a problem," he says, pointing to my tattoos. His voice is incredibly annoying – high-pitched and it always sounds like he's whining.

"Oh – I was going to put her in a long-sleeved shirt after all, would you like to see the sketch?" Felicia says quickly.

"Even so, I have my orders," Hammer says, and my heart starts to race.

"Then I'll cover them with make-up to be safe," Felicia cuts in.

"But still – there would be the Games to think about. Things happen, jackets get torn. I realize this is a sensitive issue and I appreciate that but …"  
"No – they're mine. They're like gravestones …"  
"That's the whole issue, I'm afraid – the President is concerned that the tattoos might raise some … thorny questions."  
"So what? It's not my fault you didn't report their deaths as a tragic accident while you had the chance," I say defensively, backing up as far as I can – but he holds tight to my hands and I can't get away unless I hurt him. And that seems more and more like a viable option.

"Be that as it may, I have my orders."

"Just go along, Johanna, you can have them reapplied when you get home," Felicia pleads. But that's not the point. I still remember the smell of the ink and the blood as I got these – the pain was focused in my skin instead of my head for once and I felt I could carry a part of them with me everywhere. It was the first time I felt like I could get up and go on. I dig my heels in, and Hammer tugs harder. I slug him in the face – what are they gonna do, kill me? – and he whistles for someone.

Two huge men come to try to drag me away, but I fight hard. I punch and kick and scream – the stylist from 12 comes and tries to plead my case. He suggests they cover my arms with henna that's been infused with flesh-colored dye – it'll stay on for several weeks even if I get it wet. If I thought there was a chance in hell they'd go for that, I'd calm down – even if their names were hidden, I'd know they were there. But the next thing I know, I feel a pinprick, and everything goes fuzzy and even though I fight to stay awake, I can't.

Blight is holding my hand when I wake up. "It's okay, Johanna – they were just tattoos …" he tells me.

"Did they take your wife's name? Your parents'?" I ask. His wife died of pneumonia a couple of years before he was my mentor – Marty says that's when he threw himself into mentoring.

"No. I guess old age and an unsuspicious pneumonia death won't raise too many questions," he says gently as I sit up, still feeling a little sick from the sedation. I don't look at my arms. I want to pretend that Grandpa and my babies' names are still there. "Did they take my parents' names too?" I ask, still afraid to look.

"No. They apparently know those won't raise any questions." And they weren't Snow's fault – I know he's had this ordered to remind me just how much power he has. I'm sure he thinks it'll break me – I won't let it. If the rebels bother to come pick us up, I'll have them redone, in neon ink this time.

Apparently they let Blight get into my bags – he's about the only person who doesn't make me feel violated to know that. As we're about to go to the chariots, he hands me Spruce's hat with a smile – I'm sure no one will recognize it, but it's a little act of defiance I'm perfectly happy with. Felicia puts it over my head and then arranges my hair artfully so I still look pretty. I'm surprised by how not-stripperiffic the outfit is – the flannel shirt – or at least it looks like flannel, it sure doesn't feel like it – and dark denim pants are more fitted than anything I would wear to cut trees, but I'm completely covered. Blight is in a simple white shirt and khaki pants and the heavy leather gloves of a carpenter. For all I know they're his gloves – they look worn, and I know he kept doing carpentry work even after he won as a hobby. His talent was woodcarving – he's very good at it.

As we start to line up I see the other tributes and I smile – the stylists put aside their differences to do something all as one, for once. Well, all except 1, 2, 4, and 8 – but what are you going to do? Finnick is in some kind of netting that is woven strategically so he's not _technically_ naked. He's all winks and smiles – I roll my eyes at him.

Beatee and Wiress wear the lab coats, safety glasses and heavy gloves I assume they wore for work. Because this _is_ the Capitol, some kind of flashing lights are embedded in the labcoats – actually, they're more like power lines, similar to what was in District 3's costumes last year. Oleum wears the simple work outfit with heavy boots of an oilfield worker, Jack looks ready to climb the electric poles. Kara and Cab are dressed like train conductors, but they've got flowers painted on their faces. I have no idea if that was their choice or not, but either way it makes me laugh. Malt and Hops are dressed like a brewery worker and a grain farmer, respectively. Chaff and Seeder wear the overalls and wide-brimmed hats they wear to work in the fields – Chaff has a shiny foil scythe that, while very fragile, looks authentic, and Seeder has a basket that is woven much more elaborately than the baskets they probably actually have.

District 8 broke with the other stylists, but the costumes are much more tasteful than usual – Cecelia looks lovely in a black satin dress and Woof is dashing (for his age) in a silk suit. It's a dramatic blue, but it's still the Capitol's idea of subtlety.

As I climb into the chariot, I finally see Duke, up by 6 petting one of the horses. He's striking in all black – black leather boots, black jeans, a black shirt, a long black duster jacket, and a black felt cowboy hat. Much better than the pink and purple ones his District usually has to wear, or the awful horse thing his little brother had to wear. Maria's already waiting back in her chariot, and her costume is almost a color inversion of his – pale denim pants, a white blouse, a white straw hat, and a red bandana for color. He turns and sees me and gives me a smile – I'm amazed to see how clean and authentic it looks, considering I know exactly how insane he must have gone when they told him Clint was gone.

Then I realize he's not smiling at me – he's smiling at the little girl standing at my side. I turn to see Primrose Everdeen, the little girl I might have to die for if the rebels fall through. Cinna's got her looking even more angelic than usual – she's wearing a long, simple white dress almost like a robe, with wings on the back. Her make-up's done very simply to emphasize how young she is. I'll just bet she's got a halo that'll light up when the chariots start – if it does, I'll gag. "Can I pet it too?" she asks, nervous about the huge animals.

"Sure – Whitie's a sweetheart," he says, and holds out his hand to her. She takes it, completely unfazed by reports of his growing instability, and he puts his hands under her arms and lifts her. She makes a sound of surprise and delight as he sets her on the horse – I'm not sure if he just knows what a great photograph the little white angel on the white horse will make or if he just wants to make her happy. Probably both. Either way the horse trainers yell at him and the few photographers allowed into the waiting area frantically snap photographs, probably thrilled with their exclusive. I turn and look for Haymitch and find him standing close by, arms crossed, watching Duke with curiosity. He's dressed like a coal miner even though he never had to actually mine – they don't send them until they're older. Probably in hopes they'll die or something before they get old enough to earn a wage, considering how much the Capitol seems to hate 12. "He's a gelding," Duke explains to Primrose as she sits on the horse, looking naturally photogenic and beautiful, unaware of the photographers. "That means he's a boy but he's gentle like a mare – a girl horse." Because it's been castrated – I notice he leaves that out of the explanation. I know from the way Duke smiles for her that he's ready to die for her too – I wonder if he even knows we might get rescued or if he's so suicidal he doesn't care.

"How do you know him?" Primrose asks, and Duke's face goes dark for a minute.

"He used to belong to … someone I knew. The Capitol took him away."  
"Oh – I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." My throat tightens a little – is he referring to the circus people that were murdered? I don't think Finnick was supposed to tell anyone about that but he told me once.

"Barton – we're two minutes behind as it is," a horse trainer barks.

"Guess you better go get in your chariot, Angel," Duke tells her as he lifts her down. He walks with her as far as his own chariot, then he climbs in and wipes the smile off his face and looks as stoic as possible when the chariots begin to move.

The audience seems confused by the downplayed costumes this year – but they still cheer and clap, even if it's not as enthusiastic.

I catch a look at District 12 on the reflective banners – Primrose rides on Haymitch's shoulders, much to the delight of the crowd. Her costume does have a halo. I manage not to actually gag.

"Johanna, look at your sleeves," Blight whispers suddenly, surprising me. I look down and almost cry – they're covered in letters that only started to glow when the chariot began to move. Even upside down, I know exactly what they are – on the right, Hatchet, Wes, and Spruce, and on the left, David and Pine. The oldest to the youngest, since I didn't know what order they died. Felicia must have known what Hammer was going to have done to me. I look up and try to keep my face neutral, but my chest is heavy with many things – the potent mix of joy and grief that always comes from reciting those names, sorrow at the knowledge that Felicia will almost certainly be killed for this act of defiance, and maybe just a little bit of fear.

We pull up to the other end of the stadium. Instead of the usual lingering and talking, our mentors (those of us who have them) and escorts hurry us away. Just as a group of us get into the elevator to leave, I hear the pop of a gunshot and I know it's Felicia. "Who are they shooting, Haymitch?" Primrose asks from right behind me. I half expect someone to lie to her and say it's just fireworks or something and I turn to tell her the truth, but the District 12 stylist puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her, "Someone very brave, Prim. Someone willing to make a statement." So despite the angel outfit, he at least respects her intelligence and maturity. That's a plus in my book.

Duke's in the elevator too – he shudders and his eyes have the faraway look I expected all along. "At least it was only one," he says.

Training is even more of a waste of time than usual – we've already seen each other's skill set, and we're not suddenly going to get back in shape in one week.

Haymitch Abernathy has Primrose securely under his wing. I thought we would have to wait until we got into the Arena to see who was on Team Primrose – but Haymitch just comes out and asks us. Why not – we're beyond pretense at this point.

More accurately, he asks us while he has Duke kneeling by Prim, showing her how to shoot. He doesn't want her to hear any of our plans – she's too young and she could easily blurt stuff out to the tributes who will most definitely _not_ be on our side. While Prim is practicing "camouflage painting" with the morphlings (who are technically in on it too but too stoned to actually help much, and are in fact currently painting stars and abstract shapes on each other), he gets everyone gathered – Blight and I, Chaff and Seeder, Beatee and Wiress, Duke and Maria, Cecelia and Woof, and Finnick and Mags. Emilianus stares at Finnick and Mags – out in an obvious alliance with the, for shame, non-Careers – and drags a finger across his throat like it's a knife at Finnick. Finnick responds with a careless smile and a shrug, and when the idiot goes on his way we start discussing our strategy. The most obvious solution would be to just surround Prim like a meat wall and kill every Career that comes at us. The problem is the Gamemakers would break that up as soon as they saw it. So Finnick is going to be Prim's personal bodyguard – he's still deadly with a trident – while Duke follows them at a distance and acts as a sniper to anyone trying to sneak up on them. The rest of us are going to scatter and run interference, theoretically keeping any of the hostiles from getting that close. And murder the hell out of each other when all the hostiles are down – we have the very unpleasant task of deciding how that goes down. Right now it looks like, assuming I survive that long, I kill Duke, then Finnick and I kill each other. By that point it will be very obvious – Duke lets me kill him, and Finnick and I agree on screen to thrust the trident and swing the axe at the same time. Open defiance – Duke and I don't have anyone left and I'm guessing Finnick's been promised the rebels will keep Annie safe. I want to ask Haymitch how exactly this helps if the rebels do come for us – last year they had Anthony get everyone in one place and they still didn't get everyone, and that was with the Capitol being much less prepared. As though he's read my mind – and probably everyone's mind – Haymitch says, "Of course – certain events may precipitate we scrap all this and stay together. Perhaps even events that take place before the Games." I suspect this means that if the Games start and the rebels haven't showed, we're playing it through to the end. Fantastic.

After training we all go drinking instead of going to our rooms – of course we do. Except Primrose – Cecelia takes her up to put her in bed before joining us. I wonder how exactly you put a thirteen-year-old to bed. I sit alone – Blight is busy drinking with the other men around his age. Duke comes to sit by me. I don't particularly want him to since I might have to kill him, but then again it's not like I'll have to live with it for long. The most obvious point of conversation would be the fact we both have dead little siblings, but we decide to forgo that because it's hard to get properly drunk on Capitol liquor.

"Marty wants me to tell everyone that me and Spruce were lovers. Spruce my tribute, not …"  
"I figured," he says with a laugh. "Were you?"

"No. He made me think too much of my Spruce … and my David … to think of him that way."  
"It was on the celebrity news that you had occasion to know he was hairier than Blight though," Duke says with a wicked smile – I don't think I've ever seen him smile like that, ever. Stylists are officially incapable of keeping their mouths shut. "They were naturally thrilled at the idea you knew how hairy either one of them was. Maybe you should run with it and then Blight can act all jealous." Please.  
"I walked in on tribute Spruce getting out of the shower. Yes he was shy, yes he was hairy, and yes he was … fortunate. If only in that."  
"And Blight?"  
"He doesn't sleep in a shirt. Or go to breakfast in one."

"I think the tribute-mentor romance angle makes for a better story. But then again, it might soften your image if you brought up David and your Spruce."

"Maybe I don't want it to be softened." But it would spit in the Capitol's face more – I like admitting the brother connection for that reason.

"You want to know something?" As he asks, Duke leans over to me, so that our lips are very close. It's so ironic that going to his death has given him more life than I've seen in him in … ever.

"What?"  
"I still think about you sometimes. Not just … not just for sad reasons." I smile. I don't know if it's an act – there's no cameras around here but that doesn't mean it's not an act – but I don't mind this one. Not that I've been sitting in 7 pining for him or anything – I've had other things on my mind, and I really don't know him that well – but he's handsome. I lean closer to him and our lips lock.

The moment gets very promptly ruined by Chaff yelling at Duke to look at the screen behind the bar. It's his escort being interviewed, and at first I don't see what's so exciting about it, considering they interview the escorts during training every year, but Marcellus has a tortured expression on his face, and I feel like we've come in on a very tense moment.

"I'm sorry?" Caesar Flickerman asks, and he looks uncharacteristically flustered – terrified even – like even he doesn't know what to do with whatever Marcellus just said.

"The Reaping was fixed. They said the audience was getting bored with all the recent Career wins and wanted an outlier … the Gamemakers thought Clint would be like his brother." Duke shatters the glass he's holding. "I was told to call his name last in the preliminaries if I hadn't drawn him already, and then call his name no matter who I drew at the Reaping. I loved that little boy … I watched him grow up … I knew his brother only lived for him … I betrayed him … I betrayed them both …" The screen goes black and then changes to a fashion piece. You could hear a pin drop in the bar – I don't dare look at Duke because I'm afraid if I see his face I'll lose it. I imagine if I had played along and the fire hadn't happened, but then one of my babies died in the Games, and then Cassius admitted he rigged it to get them … only I don't like Cassius so I'd be furious but not betrayed. Marcellus is – was, I'm sure he was pulled off and shot immediately – one of the few escorts anyone liked. We all suspected the Reapings were rigged sometimes, but now we know it for sure and we know how.

"Duke …" Finnick says at last, heading towards the still dead-quiet Duke. "Duke, you're bleeding, you should go to the doctor … Duke …" I look over at Duke at last and see his face is pale and completely blank – he looks like someone going into shock, but his cuts, while nasty, aren't nearly bad enough to cause that. It's the look he had on his face when he looked over all the dead tributes after the bloodbath six years ago. His hand is just resting on the counter in the middle of the broken glass. Even Emilianus doesn't have anything to say – this is a disgusting turn of events, even for a loyal District 2 Career. Finnick puts his arms around Duke, trying to reach him, but he looks like wherever he is, it's a million miles away from here.


	15. Spartan (Katniss)

Chapter 15

Spartan

Katniss

I finally go and see Drusa.

Tony's been bugging me since we got here. About two months ago when he told me I should see her, I protested, "She put a knife under your fingernails!"

"As opposed to you, you shining example of integrity and virtue in the face of the Games – you just held my arm out so she could do it," he said nonchalantly, and I turned bright red. He had a point.

But that's not why I'm finally here – it's Finnick's story.

She's sitting in her room, looking surprisingly … not like a prisoner. There's two guards at the door, and two more follow me in to make sure she doesn't try anything, and that helps – but she's got a room that looks like mine, and there's personal effects scattered about.

"Hello Katniss," she says calmly. As though we weren't trying to kill each other the last time we saw each other. We sit there for a long time – I practiced what I was going to say but it all seems stupid now.

"Rue said that you smiled at her when you saw her on her way back to Spruce and Stephen after she found me," I say at last.

"You're surprised that I admired her courage?" Drusa asks, seeming genuinely confused.

"Well …. Not when you put it like that."  
"You're the last one to come and see me."

"Even Stephen came?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes. He's really tall now." I almost laugh.

"Yes. When did he start coming?"  
"A few weeks ago." So she didn't notice him getting tall all of a sudden – she must think he had one hell of a growth spurt. "He asked me why I didn't like the other Careers."  
"Why didn't you?"  
"They were all, so far as I can tell, sadists. Well, not Cato, but he was all too willing to play the part."  
"And you're not? You tortured Tony Stark."  
"You helped."  
"I helped because he wouldn't tell me how to get to Peeta."

"I tortured him because he wouldn't tell me how to get to Cato. I didn't take any pleasure in it."

"Did you care about him?"  
"No. But he was from home. And he probably has two or three children who've been born by now."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't just let whoever wants to do it volunteer. They have to try out. The boy who wins is encouraged to have children with the female runners up, so that even if he loses, he has a legacy."

"That's sick," I say before I can stop myself.

"You wouldn't understand. In the outliers, you just want to survive, 3, 4, and 5 just want to be left alone, and 1 lives for beauty. We live for glory in 2 – and we get it. No District has more victors."

"Your sister's not really your twin, is she?"  
"No. We're half-sisters. Her mother claimed me as her daughter so my mother could be a Peacekeeper, and she sent us money when she could." It's the first thing she shows emotion over – bitterness. So basically, her mother abandoned her – not because she wanted to, but it still hurt. I relate to this girl more than I would like. "My sister's mother married someone else, mine was killed as a Peacekeeper." She says it flatly, with no affect. "Her mother tried to have her husband take me in … he refused."

"What happened to you then?"  
"I boarded at the academy. There's state funding set aside from all the victors' winnings to support tributes' orphans for a few years."  
"Only a few years?"  
"They have to convince the committee they're good enough to continue receiving funding." Her façade cracks a little for the first time – she crosses her arms over her chest and looks like she wants to draw herself in. I can guess how the girls do their convincing.

"Finnick says …" Her head snaps up in surprise.  
"Finnick?"  
"I saw a film of him telling his life story – he says sacrifice was drilled in his head from the time he was a baby and he learned to use a spear before he could throw a ball. He says 4 wasn't as bad as 1, and 1 wasn't …"  
"He's right. 4 is only a Career District in your eyes – their training is soft. 1 is better, but with too much focus on playing the audience."  
"It's enough for them to win a hell of a lot more than the other districts."

"True. But not as much as us. Aren't you going to ask what the others talk to me about?"  
"Do you want to tell me?"

"Thresh asks me if I would have made Rue suffer, and I tell him no, which is the truth. Shale wants to know how I feel about all the tributes I killed. I tell her I feel nothing, but I think she knows that's a lie. Tony attempts to seduce me." Of course he does. "Or at least he did the first few months … he stopped when he started seeing Shale." He's actually loyal to Shale? I'm impressed. "Now he just asks me to join, and tries to make me think of my sister. We're not close, and she _is_ a sadist. I expect you to ask me about why Clint Barton spared me. I suspect it's because he knew what Tony Stark was doing, and he couldn't bring himself to kill me unless my death was absolutely necessary." I remember Clint doubted the offer, but he probably knew Tony was telling the truth when he pulled that to get us all into the same spot. He was thinking more clearly than me, obviously. "I don't think he's dead, you know – I suspect the Capitol will make sure he tells everything he knows before they give him the mercy of death." I almost jump at her right then and there.

"That's what you say about the boy that spared your life?"  
"I didn't say it's what I wanted. I said it's what's happening," she says. And she has so little affect that it's hard to tell, but I think she's genuinely upset at the thought. "I … wish he wasn't tortured. I wish he were here with us. I think I would have liked him."

"You do?" I ask, surprised.

"He was very brave – to stay and try to help you even though he didn't even know if Tony was telling the truth. I think I would have liked Spruce too – when I threw the nest into your camp, he carried Stephen into the tree like he was nothing. He could have been quite a threat if he wanted to be, but he chose not to. In a Career, that would be a weakness … but a very good quality in a healer." I look around her room – there's a lot of books laying around. I didn't think they were avid readers in District 2. There's also a music player – there's not one in my room so they must have got it specifically for her. "I love to dance," she says in answer when she sees me looking at it. "It would have been my talent."

"Maybe now you can …"  
"For who? The merry band of rebels?"

"Maybe."  
"I don't know how much of an appreciation for ballet anyone from the Districts would have."

"We never get any kind of art so we don't exactly have taste," I answer, thinking of how eagerly people will listen to someone playing the harmonica even if it's bad or anyone with a decent voice singing. Then again, I don't know the art situation in District 13. "They'd like anything."  
"Maybe I will," she says, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

"Maybe you'll join us," I say slowly, not believing what I'm saying. I'm sure they won't read her in to this mission, not this late. But maybe the next one.

She won't look at me. "I was born to die," she says slowly. "Not … not the way everyone is. I was born so I could do what my father couldn't. I never even knew him, but I've lived in his shadow all these years. I don't even know what he was like. Whenever I ask about him, all I hear is that he was a good tribute – he had a body count of six before he walked into Wiress' trap. I've spent all these years hating her, not because she took away my father but because she took his glory, never wondering if any of his kills had families. I tell Shale I don't think about it but … every night, I wonder if I made any orphans when I killed Marvel and the boys from District 8 and 9 … I know Keel had a little sister … I murdered the boy from 6 while he was running way. He was only twelve-years-old and ninety pounds wet and I threw a knife in his back …" She's in tears as she confesses all this to me, the only time I've ever seen her show any emotion at all, and I guess when it rains it pours. "All the others, I can justify, but no matter how hard I look I can't find the honor in killing that little boy. Every time I fall asleep, I see the way his face looked when I went to make sure he was dead …" I have no idea what to say. I can't tell her it's okay because it's not. "I would have killed Rue and Stephen – I tried. If Clint had ever fallen asleep while you were sick, even for a minute, I would have slit his throat, then yours, and then climbed up a tree and put knives in Spruce, before he could ever get his axe, and both those little kids …"  
"Rue had a slingshot, she probably could have gotten a shot in," I say, because something needs to be said.

"Because that would have made it such an even match. A slingshot with a few rocks against knives."  
"Well it worked on Cato." She actually laughs a little, and then starts to sob again.

"The first few weeks, I cursed the rebels for bringing me here. For stealing my victory."

"And then?"  
"Then I realized they saved my life. The Capitol clearly wanted a non-Career winner last year. They would have done something to tilt the odds in your favor, or Anthony's … Maybe Thresh's or Clint's …" I think of the sickening footage we saw today – of Marcellus admitting he rigged the Reaping to draw Clint. "I was ready to die for them, I killed readily for them, but they would have cheated me." So this was what we needed to turn her – the realization that the Capitol would never return her loyalty. "The whole thing is … A travesty. They take kids who should never be fighters and make them fight us … the ones who've trained for it all our lives. And then sometimes they cheat us just to even the odds because none of the other kids happen to be lucky and they want to break up the monotony. They talk about odds … but they don't mean anything. If the Capitol wants it, they get it." She stares at the wall across from her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. "I want to help you. I want to take them down. Before they can sacrifice my sister." Now there's a sentiment I can understand.

"I'll talk to Fury."


	16. Mission Eve (Tony)

Chapter 16

Mission Eve

Tony

I guess you could call it Mission Eve – everything is ready, and we leave tomorrow.

I'm sleeping alone tonight – I think the whole "never before a game" rule applies to secret missions that could potentially bring an autocracy crashing to the ground. There's a knock on my door, and I go to it expecting something earth-shuttering. It's Brandy.

"Brandy, go to bed," I say and shut the door. She knocks again before I am back in bed. I know from experience she'll knock again and again until I give in.

"Why don't you go sleep with Shale?" I ask when I open the door once more.

"I don't want to."  
"Then I will," I say, and start to walk past her. She turns around and follows me.

"I know why you want to sleep with her," she tells me darkly. "You want to make babies grow in her tummy." Well, not just yet.

"What are you going to do about it?" I ask her.

"Sleep between you." I know she means it, so I just sigh and go back to my room. I think she's probably disabled or something – like she's thirteen but emotionally and intellectually she's quite a bit younger. None of us noticed before because it's not like anyone cares in the Districts, and it certainly doesn't disqualify you from the Reaping. But once you get her next to Stephen, or even just seeing other thirteen-year-olds like Primrose onscreen, it's painfully obvious there's something wrong with her. Her family must have known, and it wasn't just her age and size that made her brother desperate to volunteer in her place. I don't know why she still likes me so much – I'm a jerk to her. I don't pull punches just because she's thirteen and probably retarded. But I guess she understands I saved her life and her family's not here. "One day, pipsqueak, you're going to find someone else to bother."  
"Never," she insists.

She climbs in the bed (right in the middle, like she does) and lies down. She's carrying her doll. I hope no one else comes to wake me up – I know what this looks like. I turn my back to her. "Why do you always turn your back to me, Tony?" she asks.

"So if someone comes in they don't think I was … trying to make babies with you."  
"But you're with Shale."

"A relationship isn't a penis lock, Brandy. People cheat."  
"You did even before you were with her."  
"I'm too old for you. You have no idea how bad this looks."  
"Why does it look bad?"

"Go to sleep, motormouth. I've got stuff to do tomorrow," I say and put a hand over her mouth. She bites me. Not hard but she always makes her mouth all slobbery before she does it and it's gross.

"I'll hit you," I say, my register dropping an octave. I make it sound like I'm threatening to murder her and throw her off the hovercraft. She takes the threat seriously and stays on her edge of the bed. I know that'll only last until she starts nodding off.

Without warning, she bursts into tears. "Are you going to die tomorrow, Tony?" she asks. I decide not to lie to her like everyone else does.

"I don't know Brandy – I might."  
"Can you try not to?" I almost laugh.

"Yeah, Brandy, I'll do my best."

"Why are you going?"  
"Because I here there's great sex and booze in the hero business," I say flippantly.

"No, really, why are you going when other people could do it? Don't say for girls or alcohol – you already have those."

"To make a better world for you," I tell her honestly, after a moment's hesitation. Well, obviously not just for her. But wouldn't it be great if we lived in a world where she could get treatment for whatever's wrong with her and someone would be nice to her and she'd be someone else's problem?

"Okay," she says.

I go back to sleep with Brandy wrapped around my neck like a python. Of course.


	17. Aid and Comfort to the Enemy (Spruce)

Chapter 17

Aid and Comfort to the Enemy

Spruce

I'm worried about Johanna. I know she's going back and I'm sure she'll hold her own, but I know she's up against a lot of victors, and how she already can't sleep without pills.

I share this with Betty as she cleans my wounds once more. "Look, Spruce, I have something for you," she whispers as she finishes, and hands me two pieces of paper. I flip them open and see maps of the city and what I can only guess is the floorplan of the prison I'm in. I study them quickly, memorizing as much of them as I can. If I ever get past the guards I can make a break for it. She kisses the back of my neck while I read, and I feel love radiating out from my chest. At least I think it's love. I know what she risked to give me this. Any thought that I had that she's just a spy, never that strong a thought, dies now with the maps in my hand. I take her hand and kiss it. She sits on the table next to me, and she kisses me.

We take as long as we dare – then she hurries to let the guard know I'm ready to go. If he suspects anything, it doesn't show in his expression.

Betty stays for once – I'm not sure why. She stands towards the back of the lab, watching. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger – that's her nervous habit and I know what I'm waiting for is bad news. They strap me down to a slab, as usual, and put in the IV. Sometimes the torturer is present, other times he's too busy. Today is one of those days – I'm grateful. They run an IV of the burning liquid in my arm, and lower the radiation probes over my torso. At the control panel, one of the scientists fires up the radiation.

It tingles and burns a little but the IV is the worst. I look over at Betty, whose hiding her face and trying to look unaffected, and I know it looks as bad as it feels.

I've gotten to where I don't try to fight the Other Guy so much.

Burning, always burning.

Different this time. Something pulling, tearing, changing.

Straps break, clothes tear.

Smash guards. Smash guards get back to Game Buddy. Take Game Buddy to brother.

Guards break. Lots of blood.

Loud sound, stinging against skin. Don't like it.

Betty scared.

"Hulk bad?"

"Hulk?"  
"No! You get back!"

Ross mean. Ross hurt Spruce. Want to hurt him. Betty in way.

"Hulk, please no." Won't hurt Ross – Betty love Ross.

Pain again, things tearing and changing, getting shorter …

Lots of guards, pain like a shot.

I stir slowly, coming back to myself as I relax a little – helped by the drugs they just shot me up with. I see some guards lying in very contorted positions, obviously dead and looking like a log fell on them. I'm totally naked – my body aches all over and I'm violently ill, vomiting up what little's in my stomach and shaking violently. Ross curses as he steps over to me.

"What happened?" I ask, but I see it in flashes.

"Looks like one more treatment for you, Mr. Banner," Ross says.

"You mean that's what you wanted to happen?" I ask in horror. Betty kneels by me and wipes my mouth with a handkerchief, clearly worried about me. But she won't look me in the eye – I know she's shaken because of what just happened. I am too – I didn't want to kill anyone, not even Capitol guards.

"Will you give him a little time, Daddy?" she asks.

"Sure – just as long as the rebels agree to wait on him too," Ross says dismissively. "We'll finish tomorrow. Get him back in his cell." They haul me to my feet, and someone throws me some pale blue loose-fitting clothes like the scrubs Betty wears when she looks out for me. It occurs to me the map and floor plan were in the pocket of my jacket, but I don't dare call attention to them by going back for them, so I put on the scrubs and try not to look at the tattered Game clothes I've worn all this time. But someone notices the papers anyway.

"What the hell are these?" a guard asks, picking them up. In the process of tearing, the pocket and the papers were torn, and the torn paper is very visible. I look down, trying hard not to acknowledge him. The guard hands the papers to Ross, whose face goes pale. He won't turn around and look at Betty – no one else could have given them to me without being noticed.

"Did my daughter give you these, Banner?" he asks me.

"No," I lie. Then I quickly decide to try to frame Lester – it's worth a shot, and I feel nothing about getting him killed. "It was a guard called Lester …"

"Sir – I have a delicate matter to discuss with you," a guard says, putting his head in the door. He sees the bloody bodies of some of the guards and his eyes widen and he looks like he wants to throw up.

"Not now, Wilson …"  
"Sir it's about your daughter," he says after a moment, tearing his eyes away from the bodies.

Ross leaves, and the guards put Betty in handcuffs. "No … like I said it was a guard called Lester …" I try to say but I'm having trouble staying awake. One of the guards hits me.

"Nice try," he says.

Ross comes back in, paler than ever. "Arrest her for providing aid and comfort to the enemy," he says softly – they barely hear him. He's obviously conflicted about the order, but whatever the guard showed him has changed his mind.

"Betty?" I call, trying desperately to get to her but now I'm so tired and dizzy that I fall to my knees after just a few steps. The guards drag me away, and even as numb as I am from the drugs I'm terrified for her.


	18. An Illusion of Safety (Caesar)

Chapter 18

An Illusion of Safety

Caesar

I'm still shaken by what's been happening so far this year. It's a very delicate time indeed. I know the whole nation is looking to these interviews – even more than they always do – waiting for something to happen. I know I must tread carefully.

I never wanted to have these people on my stage again. I wanted to tell them goodbye, send them home to their families, and let them have a happy life. I think very hard about the fully-loaded bar that's waiting for me when this is over.

Despite the circumstance, I smile and laugh as I send twenty-three men and women who were supposed to be safe into the Arena to die, and one to become a victor, again, but at terrible cost. It was hard enough sending Howard Stark's son, Aurelius Romanov's daughter, and Duke Barton's little brother into the Arena, knowing they might all die, all in one year last time.

Gloss and Cashmere break my heart – I sent them both home to each other in consecutive years. I know they're hoping for mercy like what was almost offered in the last Games, and I know there's not even a small chance they're going to be offered that mercy.

Emilianus tries to spin his reason for volunteering to be about Drusa, but I know better. He's as vicious now as he was then – he trained all his life for the Games, and they were over too soon. Maybe Ennobaria's the same, maybe she volunteered because her sister was also a victor. I don't know.

Wiress is so damaged that she doesn't make sense – I do the best I can but I know there's no hiding it. Beatee has a wife and children, and we talk about them. I know then what the tributes are doing, but instead of trying to discourage it I go along with it – it'll look worse if I'm obviously steering them away from it.

Mags is hard to understand as well, as she never quite recovered from the stroke, and normally I'd say she wouldn't last a day – but I know Finnick will take care of her for as long as possible. Speaking of Finnick, he breaks hearts with a letter to his one true love (I know it's Annie) and the crowd goes wild – some women faint dead away, convinced it's meant for them.

Oleum worries about her children, and Jack worries about who will mentor the kids from 5 if both of them die – Electra will be on her own then, in the same situation Haymitch has been in for years.

I think Kara and Cab are the best off of anyone – they have no idea what's going on. There's no one for them to worry about.

Johanna is as beautiful as ever. I'm not allowed to bet on who the victor would be, but I could usually call them – I didn't call her. She seemed so sweet and innocent – and who knows, maybe she was. It was her first year mentoring last year. Of course we talk about Spruce – despite my efforts to keep us clear of the subject. "He never stood a chance. I know I'm not supposed to say that, but he was … not the kind of kid who can win these Games. He was … too good, too kind and gentle. It's really a shame he was Reaped – people in his village are literally dying without him." How many Districts are starting to rally around their healers now? I've heard talk of trying to appease them by making young healers exempt from the Reaping, but I know that won't ever happen. "I know we all had high hopes for him after the blood bath …" I start, trying to steer the conversation away from this topic and also remind everyone he was no saint.

"He reminded me of my brother …" We are now officially in forbidden territory – if it hadn't been for some of the others I'd say she was suicidal. Well, she's still suicidal but she's in good company. "Two of them, actually. He was sweet like my Spruce and smart like David." I relented and played along.

"Yes … you had a brother by the same name, I can imagine how difficult that was for you."

"Unbelievably." I know she wants to say what happened to her family – people are undoubtedly wondering why she speaks in past tense about them.

"I'm afraid we're out of time, Johanna. May the odds be ever in your favor."  
"With all due respect, Caesar, the odds were never in my favor," she says, and people gasp.

Blight echoes the sentiment about Spruce – I know this is dangerous territory since the rebels have made him a martyr, but I don't know how to steer the conversation without being obvious. "I should have been better to him when he was alive … he would ask me for things for his village. Medicine and supplies. I wasn't kind about telling him no. I should have given him whatever he asked for." Such a sentiment is unheard of – victors aren't known for sharing, and aren't encouraged otherwise. "I think a lot of people forget Juniper though – her nephew came into this world without his aunt." His tone is clear – he wants to remind the Capitol of how unfair the whole thing is.

Cecelia sheds many tears for the children and ailing husband who won't see her again, all though she pretends not to be resigned to death just yet. Woof is the second oldest, after Mags, and also a little senile – but he makes sense at least. He's the first to reveal the tributes' plan, whether by design or accident. "Us older folks have decided – we've all had our time. We're gonna make sure little Miss Everdeen gets home to look after her mama and the sick folks of 12." The audience responds with sighs and tears – it's the noblest cause they've seen in the Games. We know Cecelia would be in on such a plan – and we know her "hope" is a façade.

Malt and Hops both make good-natured jokes at Haymitch's expense – lamenting that their District will lose one of its best customers if he falls in these Games – that segue into a more serious discussion of the children District 9 has lost, and Hops tells his newborn son goodbye, and the quick levity of their interviews quickly returns to the heavy, depressing tone the night has had so far. I wonder if the government has cut our feed yet, and if I'm going to be in trouble for not steering things in a more positive direction. I decide I don't care as Maria, the only woman victor from her District (like Johanna) steps onstage, and I see Duke behind her.

Maria's also leaving behind children – the number of orphans made by these Games has climbed to a hideous number, no matter who wins.

Duke is quite possibly the worst yet. His eyes are dead, and I wonder if he'll talk at all. He does – all too much. His grief is obviously still painfully fresh. He sobs as he speaks of his brother, the brother he volunteered for, and how there is nothing left for him now that he's gone. "Katniss … Katniss did the same," he says unexpectedly, but I know where he's going. "She died to give her little sister life. I'm not going to let her sacrifice be for nothing … the way mine was. I loved Dusty, the way my brother loved Katniss, and I killed her." We've suspected that for a long time, but now that it's said out loud, everyone gasps. "I killed twelve people. Twelve kids who just wanted to survive. That's the sacrifice the Capitol demanded for my little brother to live. And then they killed him anyway. I'm not going to let that happen to Prim – if I die to protect her it won't bother me one damn bit because the only part of me that was still alive died a year ago," he says bitterly, and I let him talk. Even I don't know what to say. He doesn't have any other family I can tell him to think about. He's not even rich, at least not in comparison to other victors … he just has a little ranch someone else can take over. That little ranch was apparently his dream – he told me so when he was a vibrant, funny seventeen-year-old boy just trying to save his brother that I rightly predicted would win. But it means nothing to him now – not with all the ghosts in his head and without the brother who was, so far as anyone can tell, the only person he loved in the whole world. So I just wish the shell that used to be Duke Barton luck and hurry him offstage.

Seeder and Chaff both have families, and given that there's no other mentors from their District, they speak of the mental toll of being a mentor year after year. It's not a pretty picture, and certainly not one that's ever been painted before. Seeder speaks of Rue – another martyr we're not supposed to be talking about. "Victor's Village in District 11 is right next to the orchards Rue's family tended during apple harvest season – sometimes I could hear her whistling to the others that it was time to leave," Seeder says. "All the mockingjays would sing along with her little tune – it was absolutely beautiful. The fields already seem sadder with her gone." The audience sighs in sympathy.

And then … Primrose Everdeen.

She looks frail and small sitting in the seat her sister held so confidently, but I can see Katniss in her. She says she wants to make her family proud, but she's confused and frightened by some of the other tributes' plan – she doesn't want anyone to die for her. Especially not someone with children. She's almost in tears over it, and I have to find something silly and frivolous to talk about or the audience will probably riot right at this moment. She's wearing the same dress as her sister, only in miniature, and of course I ask her to twirl for us.

But as she does, instead of simply burning harmlessly, her dress begins to burn away. I almost panic and stop her, but I realize this was as intentional as her sister's flames – the outer dress burns away to reveal a shorter, stylized black dress beneath. Prim seems as surprised by this development as the rest of us. "I … I thought the dress was heavy," she says, bewildered, and gets the first laugh since Hops' joke about how the workers at the "Haymitch brewery" were definitely pooling their money to buy Haymitch gifts, and to hell with their own tribute. "It's … It's a Mockingjay," she says in realization as she finds her way to her seat. "Like Katniss's token …" I know then that Cinna is in very big trouble but I try to play it off as something innocuous and sweet – a nice reminder of her sister. That makes Prim smile, and I'm able to send her off stage with genuine applause.

Haymitch is surprisingly not drunk. Of all the tributes, he's the one who most resembles his young self – that's almost a relief.

Until he reveals he's part of the alliance to keep Prim alive – of course he is, he's from her District. "I told Peeta if he volunteered I'd kill him – he was very eager to help, of course, given how he felt about her sister. I told him I'd do more good for her in the Arena, but the truth is – I just couldn't watch him die. He's the only tribute I've managed to save in all these years, and I hate to admit it but I ended up liking the kid. He'll probably do a better job as mentor than me anyway. I just wish I had time to show him the ropes." The audience sighs – some of them have grown to love Haymitch for his antics. Even the comic relief isn't safe, in the end.

And then, before I can send Haymitch offstage, a very peculiar thing happens. The tributes who've already been interviewed, all except Emilianus, remerge, hands locked, and Haymitch joins them. They form a line across the stage, not arranged by districts but randomly interwoven in a show of solidarity that we've never seen from the tributes before. Duke holds tight to Cashmere's hand – the two older siblings, one fighting for her brother's life and the other fighting to give his own sacrifice meaning. Woof and Mags, the elderly tributes, hold hands. The tributes from outer districts hold hands with those from inner districts, Enobarria and Gloss forget that 1 and 2 are bitter rivals. And Prim is right in the middle, in her Mockingjay costume, with Duke on one side and Johanna on the other. Duke and Johanna raise Prim's hands, as though she's already won, and for once there's fire in Duke's eyes. The fire in Johanna's eyes is nothing new. Seeing no other choice, I try to make this seem scripted, and I enthusiastically introduce them as the tributes of the 75th Hunger Games.

I know the screens cut now. Cinna is pulled away by Peacekeepers. The audience begins to riot – they don't want to go through with this. They want Prim to go home, safe and sound for this year at least. They want Haymitch to show Peeta how to be a mentor. They want Chaff and Seeder to see their grandchildren again. They want Maria to see her children through the Reapings they have left. They want Hops to watch his son grow up. They want Cecilia to go back to tending her children, and for her dying husband to have his loyal wife at his side when he dies. They want Kara and Cab to go on being crazy but harmless morphine addicts. They want Oleum's daughter to have someone to braid her hair. They want Finnick to be with his true love. They want Mags and Woof to die peaceful deaths of old age. They want Beatee to go on being a family man and for Wiress to live her peaceful, eccentric life. They want Cashmere and Gloss to be safe and as close as ever. They want to leave Duke to his grief.

But the Gamemakers have spoken, and we all live under their decrees. It's just the first time it's been felt so strongly in the Capitol.


	19. The Last Straw (Clint)

Chapter 19

The Last Straw

Clint

I try to sleep whenever I can during the day – there's nothing else to do, and Lester keeps us up all night. Unfortunately, today, like any other day, I'm woken with a boot to the face from the torturer. "Wake up, lazy defiant child," he says in that insufferable cheery tone. I groan as I sit up – and I'm immediately aware of the violent retching and moaning sounds from the other cell.

"What the hell did you do to him this time?" I ask, horrified.

"While you were sleeping, your friend was used in an attempt to better mankind. Sadly … it does not seem to have worked yet." It must be evening then – they usually bring him back around evening. I think – it's hard to tell in a hellhole with no sunlight. "But I thought you should see your brave brother's interview."

The panic comes creeping into my mind again – my brother's going into the Arena tomorrow. They'll probably use that to try to make me talk – they'll manipulate it so he dies. I almost tell them everything right then and there, but the torturer turns on my screen and Duke's already on, and I just want to hear his voice so badly I clamp my mouth shut.

He looks even emptier than usual, and tears come to my eyes, and I realize this very stage is the last place I saw my brother truly alive. He talks about me – and I know the torturer has made a huge fumble. He's told me all along Duke could come and save me, but I know he thinks I'm dead – that kind of grief would take an actor a lot better than Duke to fake.

Duke admits he loved Dusty. I knew it all along, but I still start to sob. He did that for me – not only did he volunteer to keep me out of the Arena, but he knew I'd starve to death without him. I almost did just while he was away. "You see the grief you cause your brother, naughty defiant child?" the torturer asks me. I curse at him.

"I didn't send him to kill twelve kids, or waste all the food so we had to live on scraps, or make his sacrifice for nothing," I say bitterly. Almost as soon as I say that, Duke says something that almost stops my heart – he mentions Katniss and how he won't let her sacrifice come to nothing, the way his did. He's going to save Primrose if he has to give his life for it – and the worst thing is I know he will, and despite my brief show of defiance I can't hold it together anymore. I turn my face to the floor and start to cry unstoppably and scream into the concrete. I don't think I've ever cried so much in my whole life – even when I was a kid if I started crying Duke would smack me and tell me to suck it up and focus on fixing whatever it was instead of crying about it. But there's no fixing this – there never was – and all that's left is to cry every tear I've never cried. The torturer doesn't say anything or make a move – he just turns off my screen and lets me scream it out. He knows I'm at the end of my rope – I'm sure he'll come back tomorrow. He'll probably make me watch the Games, and the bad part is I know I'll crack. I can only hope that they believe me when I tell them the pitiful amount I know is all I know, and kill me quickly.

"Are you okay, Clint?" Spruce calls through the wall. He's finally stopped throwing up. I can't even speak to answer him – all I can do is lie on the floor, waiting for the terrible dawn that's coming.

Lester bangs on the cell wall like he always does. I was only half-asleep this time anyway. "Sounds like your brother would have liked a piece of Katniss as well," he calls. I ignore him. "Can't blame him."

"Shut up, Lester," I snap finally.

"You never got to have her though, did ya?" He knows the answer to that. "I did."  
"Yeah I'm sure you did. It was probably the worst five seconds of her life," I say, still not looking at him.

"Big talk for a virgin," he taunts.

"Ask your sister about the factuality of that," I throw back at him. He's walking right into them tonight. I finally look at him – and all of a sudden something clicks in my memory.

For all these months, he's looked so familiar. And now I know why. "Hey – I just realized," I say with a big grin. I'm going to take pleasure where I can get it. "I know where I saw you."  
"What do you mean, loverboy?"  
"You're the nanny who got stopped cold by a little blind boy in front of the whole nation of Panem," I say, laughing, and the way he freezes tells me I'm absolutely right. There was an incident in District 5, and the Capitol was doing their usual intimidation game by broadcasting the violent put down of said incident all over the nation. They made the mistake of showing it live – everyone in the Districts (except maybe 2) got a huge laugh when a Peacekeeper who was laughing and being especially brutal got punched in the crotch by a fleeing blind boy and went down like glass, apparently having neglected to put on protective gear for that particular area that day. "What, they didn't have cups small enough for you?" I ask, leering at him from the floor of the cell. The best part was the kid didn't stop there, and just proceeded to beat the daylights out of this Peacekeeper until another one showed up and the kid took off, taking his would-be arrester's helmet and gun with him. So far as I know nothing happened to that kid – the Capitol really, really didn't want to call attention to the incident, and he was easily lost in District 5, as big as it is. "Is that why they put you here – so you couldn't humiliate the nation on live television anymore?" I taunt him. His face is as red as a tomato, and judging by the way his jaw's moving he's grinding his teeth hard.

"Clint, cool it," Spruce pleads, but I don't stop.

"Is that the real reason you're so quick with the taser? Because I'm not an eleven-year-old blind kid, I could probably take you even with my arms tied behind my back. Or are you just compensating for your incredibly tiny …"

I felt the electricity surging through my body once again, and even that really can't kill the perverse glee I get from taunting him. He's cursing me very creatively. I realize I'm probably about to goad him into killing me, but I would consider that a victory – the torturer would probably kill him for killing me just when I was about to crack. And then maybe Spruce could sleep through the night. Lester opens the cell and files in, slamming it behind him. He kneels on my chest so that I can barely breathe before I can get my strength back. He grabs my arm and holds it out. "You want to know what's funny, little man? Even if they let you go home, by some miracle, you'll never fire another arrow," he says softly, maliciously. I desperately try to fight him but I'm not strong enough. He takes out a long bit of wire and wraps part of it around the index finger on my left hand right at the palm and uses his boot as a lever, and yanks hard. I scream.

I was ready to die, but not for this much pain. "Clint?!" Spruce calls hysterically. "Clint what's he doing to you?" Yeah, like I can really answer. "Clint?!" The wire cuts to the bone, severing an unfathomable number of nerves and cutting through muscle, skin, tendon and blood vessels, and I shake violently with the sudden, violent pain and watch the blood … my blood … spurt all over the place. He takes my finger between his hands and breaks the bone. Since bone was all that's connecting it …

I'm in so much pain I barely notice that Spruce is moaning in pain as well.

Even the other guards, crowding around the door trying to look in through the tiny hole, are cursing and calling Lester crazy. He doesn't listen – he frees the wire and wraps it around my middle finger, having some trouble with it since his hands are slick with my blood, and I beg him to just kill me instead. "Shut up. It's your eyes next," he tells me coldly, focused on his work.

Lester tightens the wire and I'm in more pain that I could have ever imagined. He breaks the bone in my middle finger as we hear the roar and the crash. He looks up with eyes wide in terror. All the other guards scream and run. He goes for his taser but a huge, green hand grabs his arm. I hear bones crunch in the green hand's grip. I see the hand is connected to a huge green beast, who hauls Lester into the air. I see and hear Lester's shoulder pop out of socket, and I'm surprised his arm is still attached. The green beast roars again and flings him against the wall, and I hear bricks crash and many more bones shatter as he goes right on through it. The beast turns its bright green eyes on me and I'm suddenly very glad I'm starved, because otherwise I would absolutely crap myself right now.

"Game Buddy hurt?" it asks.

"No," I lie, ignoring the blood spurting from my left hand. It gives me a skeptical look, and I have just enough brain cells that aren't on full panic mode to put it together that the green monster is, somehow, Spruce. He picks me up and cradles me in one arm like I would a newborn goat, and I wrap my right arm around his neck, wrap my left hand in the hem of my filthy shirt and try hard to press against the bleeding, and duck my head – I have a feeling this is going to be a bumpy ride.

The green beast that used to be Spruce smashes cell doors with the hand that's not holding me as he sprints down the hall, looking in each one for someone. Not only is he inhumanly strong, he's apparently inhumanly fast as well. Most of the prisoners stay put, too terrified to attempt an escape (whether they're more terrified of the Capitol or the Spruce beast, I can't say). I hold on tight, still shaking violently from what Lester did … I can't bring myself to look at the wound. I hear him taunting me. "Even if they let you go home, by some miracle, you'll never fire another arrow." Not that I'm worried about that right now – I'm more worried about what happens when the guards finds their balls and come after Spruce in force. In this state I don't even know if he's even vulnerable … but I sure am.

He finally finds the person he's looking for and sets me down roughly. The occupant of this cell is a pretty girl, definitely from the Capitol, all though she doesn't have all the crazy make-up/implant stuff the rich people have. She obviously hasn't been here long. Unlike everyone else, she's not plastered against the wall furthest away from the green monster, but rather just looks surprised. "Spruce?" she gasps.

"Betty!" the beast says in that inhuman voice as he scoops her up in his arms, and I'm afraid he's going to leave me and I jump to my feet. That's a bad idea because it makes me dizzy and I start to worry about the blood I'm losing.

"Hulk not leave Game Buddy," he … uh … reassures, and scoops me up. He holds me and the girl in the same arm like we're nothing, and tears off cell doors along the other side of the hallway as he goes back the way he came. I hope he knows what he's doing.

We pass the cells where we were held. I hear a gunshot and brace myself – but it hits Spruce. He howls and comes to a sudden stop several cells away, but there's no blood. "Spruce, we don't have time," the girl, Betty I guess, pleads.

"Lester is blight!" the beast, the Hulk I guess, argues. I'm guessing since Lester hasn't taken another shot he can't move from where he is – halfway through the cell's back wall. I'm amazed he was able to move enough to even lift the gun and pull the trigger.

"I know that! But we're in a hurry!" Betty scolds sharply. Her tone is almost motherly. I admire her courage – I couldn't bring myself to tell him I was hurt, let alone scold him like that. But he just makes a sound of disappointment and runs on.

I feel like I should introduce myself to the girl since we're currently being held so close we're literally cheek-to-cheek. She definitely hasn't been here long – I can smell her perfume. I know how I probably smell and I'm actually kind of embarrassed. But we have a bigger issues than introductions and the fact Snowball would probably turn his nose up at me right now – namely hoping none of the guards find their spines before Spruce gets us out of here.

But where are we going? Even if he finds his way out of here, are we just going to wander around the city? It's not like we can hide him in this state … and I need to get somewhere where they can do something about my fingers.

But much to my relief, we find our way to heavy bulwark doors, completely uncontested by guards. He sets us down again, and as soon as he does Betty starts looking at my hand. She takes one look and starts tearing cloth off the hem of her shirt. The Hulk that used to be Spruce punches the doors several dozen times, and when that doesn't work puts his shoulder against them and pushes. I watch in amazement as they start to give – but I'm soon distracted by the pain as Betty twists the cloth from her hem tight around what little is left of my left and middle index fingers, making a makeshift tourniquet. I hear the sound of bending and crunching metal and try to focus on it, but close my eyes tight so I don't see her working.

Hulk picks us up one more time, and we're into a different set of tunnels – no cells here. He breaks through a much less secure door just by kicking it, and this opens the tunnels into yet another set of tunnels, where there are some terrified citizens milling about, but not for long. Understandably, they scream and run.

The Hulk's main theory of navigation seems to be "punch through doors until I find something I like" – he finally finds his way to what is apparently an exit tunnel. Bizarrely, it opens into someone's apartment. The occupants – asleep in bed until just now – shriek in terror but the Hulk ignores them as he punches through the living room wall and we're out on the open street.

It's a good thing it's night because I'd probably be blinded by the light otherwise.

Cars screech to a stop at the sight of us, and the few brave souls out on foot at night dive into bushes to get out of the way as the Hulk runs along the sidewalk at a blistering pace. I have no idea where he's going but he seems to know now. I keep waiting for Peacekeepers to arrive, but they never do.

"I'm Clint!" I call to Betty. I have to shout even though we're cheek-to-cheek because the wind is rushing by so fast.

"I know! I mean … I watched you," she says, and I remember she's the enemy and I'm not sure why Spruce saved her.

I see the building I recognize as the training center, and my heart soars. We're going to rescue Duke.

We finally meet Peacekeeper resistance – he rounds a corner and almost runs into a heavy blockade – a bullet whizzes by my ear and hits the Hulk's chest. It's a massive bullet, but it just bounces off and leaves a welt. The Hulk responds by setting both of us down behind a parked car, then picking up the car next to that one and throwing it into the blockade. He's so fast that I doubt they all get out of the way, and he probably just killed at least a couple of Peacekeepers. Not that I'm complaining.

He picks us back up just in time for me to see the rest of them scatter in terror, and we run on past what used to be a car and … apparently not any Peacekeepers. I'm disappointed in the Hulk's aim … or impressed with it if his goal was to scare them away without hurting them.

We reach the building and he shifts us in his arms. "Hold on, Betty. Hold on Game Buddy," he tells us. I already am, but I hold on tighter as he lets go and I quickly see why he needs both hands – he's scaling the building. Betty's more alarmed by this than me. She shrieks as he leaps off the ground onto the building. He doesn't so much climb it as just leap from ledge to ledge – he shouldn't be that graceful, as big as he is.

We reach the tenth floor, and he breaks the wall next to the window – maybe he's worried about getting broken glass on us, I have no idea why he goes through the wall when he could go through the window. Hulk climbs in, and I hear a woman screaming, until she recognizes me.

"Clint?!" she gasps, confused and horrified.

"Where his brother?" the Hulk demands.

"He's … he's with Johanna," she stammers. Wait … what?

"What do we say?" Betty asks.

"Thank you," the Hulk says grumpily. The whole thing is so surreal, I almost forget she said my brother's with Johanna.

The Hulk swings us back out onto the outside of the building and I almost get sick to my stomach – not that I have anything in my stomach to throw up. He lowers us down very rapidly and Betty shrieks again, and apparently we reach the seventh floor because he punches in another wall.

He steps in and sets me on the ground. I hear a man and a woman both screaming, and something heavy gets thrown at the Hulk. I've seen him take bullets but I don't want him getting angry at anyone in this room. "Stop! Stop! It's Spruce!" I yell quickly, putting my hand up.

"Spruce?!" Johanna asks in a shriek. She stares at his arm and her eyes widen even more than they already were – she sees the tattoo of his mother's name and recognizes it despite the fact its distorted by the transformation.

"Clint!" Duke exclaims, and he sits on the bed, too stunned to move. I find the strength to get up and stumble to him – I fall against the bed, not really having the strength to climb in it. He sits up then and stumbles out of bed, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head. I don't even care that he's naked. "I thought you were dead," he says, and we both sob.

"Take care of Betty," the Hulk orders Johanna.

"I … how …" Johanna stammers.

"Promise!" he orders.

"Yes, I promise," she says, still confused, and then Spruce is gone as quick as he came – I assume he's off to terrorize some more Peacekeepers.

Johanna pulls something from under her pillow, then pulls me away from Duke and holds out my arm and puts a sharp steak knife to it. "What the hell are you doing!?" Duke demands and grabs her arm.

"They never removed his tracker, and I'm sure it's still viable – it has to come out," Johanna says matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Duke demands, still trying to fight her arm away from mine.

"Because Haymitch thinks we can run, and that was our cue," she says and jerks her head at the hole in the wall. Duke and I both nod and she starts to cut. I scream in pain – the necessity doesn't make it hurt less – and Duke hugs me tight while she does it. She digs the tracker out of my arm and throws it on the bed.

"Unless you want to run out of here naked, you better get your clothes on," she tells Duke flatly as she reaches for her own clothes. Normally seeing someone as pretty as Johanna Mason naked would be a lot more exciting, but I'm still bleeding (now from three places) and terrified.

Betty kneels by me once again while Duke and Johanna throw their clothes on and tries to look at my arm but I pull it away.

"Who did that to you?" Duke asks as he throws his shirt on, looking directly at my left hand.

"This crazy son of a coyote guard …" I say with difficulty. Just thinking of Lester makes me shake now … all though I take some solace in thinking the Hulk probably broke just about every bone in his body. "It's what made Spruce … turn into that. I think. He was all sick and stuff earlier and then Lester started doing that and …"  
"What he … he wasn't … he wasn't like that before the guard did that?" Johanna asks.

"No he … well we couldn't see each other but he sounded normal."

"It's what they've been doing – it's part of the super soldier project," Betty interjects. "They've been altering his genes with radiation and viral carriers for months now." I just want to know how she knows so much about it.  
"The what?" Duke asks.  
"Trying to turn people into weapons."  
"They did that," Johanna says, looking at the hole in the wall as she buttons her blouse. She's wearing a tough as nails expression but her hands shake – I know she didn't want to see him that way.

I really don't feel very good – aside from the thankfully dulling pain in my hand and arm, I feel shaky and sick to my stomach. Duke, now fully dressed, picks me up effortlessly and slings me over his shoulder – I've been starved so bad it's no issue for him. We head out the door, with Betty nervously following. "How's Snowball?" I ask weakly, trying to keep things light.

"Oh …" he says, and I know it's not good. "He … He pined for you from the day you left. Wouldn't shut up – he bleated all day and stood at the gate. About a month after you … after I thought you died … he just stopped eating. I did everything I could to get the stupid thing to eat, he just wouldn't." There's a heavy weight on my chest. Part of me wants to accuse Duke of eating Snowball or selling him, but I know better. He probably tried to keep him alive just because he reminded him of me.

"He was old … he lived a good life," I say weakly, trying not to burst into tears again over a goat.

The elevators are shut down so we take the stairs. Duke carries me down the stairs with Johanna and Betty at his side. "Who are you anyway?" I ask Betty. "Why were you in the cell?" She turns bright red.

"I was … I was under arrest for providing aid and comfort to the enemy," she says sheepishly, and judging by how bright red her cheeks are, I can guess the nature of the "aid and comfort" and I know exactly who "the enemy" was, and I find it in me to smile. No wonder Spruce held up under torture so long. "It wasn't like that," she snaps at me. "I showed him the floor plan for the prison and a map of the city, in case he ever slipped away from the guards." Which explained how the Spruce beast knew where to go.

"So that was the aid, what was the comfort?" I ask, smirking, and she turns even redder.

Betty opens her mouth to say something but someone's coming down the stairs with us.

"What in the hell was that?" Haymitch Abernathy asks as he hustles down the stairs, probably faster than he's ever moved in his life. He rounds a corner and sees me and his eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack, but he doesn't slow down. He's got Primrose's hand in one of his, and a huge hammer in the other. I recognize Primrose even though I've only seen her on TV – she's pretty, like her sister. Only … blonder and cuter and more … I don't know. Little girlish. She's still very thin despite the week of eating she's had … she wouldn't have lasted long in the Arena.

"Primrose Everdeen," I say with a smile.

"Clint?" she asks, sounding horrified. "They told us you died … is my sister okay?" she asks desperately.

"She wasn't with us," is all I can say, even though I want to tell her Katniss is fine – mostly because I want that to be true.

"Barton – what was that? All we heard was crashing," Haymitch presses on, and it takes me a moment to realize he's asking Duke, and I've already answered.

"It was Spruce … they did something to him … turned him into a mutt, and it backfired."

"He tore open the walls no problem – we've got a nice distraction, we better take the chance," Johanna says quickly.

"I agree," Haymitch says, and we hear the thunder of other footsteps on the stairways.

All but a handful of the victors serving as mentors and tributes gather on the first floor of the training center by the gym. Duke sits down with me and lays me across his lap so he's still keeping me warm but I'm comfortable. The victors who join us have varying reactions to me – some are just shocked and confused, but some of them seem incredibly happy to see me. Maria, now that she doesn't have a giant green Spruce monster to worry about, bursts into tears and kneels by Duke to kiss me on the cheek. Peeta's happier to see me alive than I thought he would be. "I'm so sorry," he says as he hugs me tight, and I have no idea what to say. It's not his fault, I know it's not, but I do resent him.

"Was Spruce with you?" the old man from District 7 – one of the mentors I guess – asks me desperately, and Johanna tenses up.

"Yeah … he was. They experimented on him … I don't know if he'll ever be the same."  
"He's alive?" the old man asks, stunned. I'm getting suspicious that no one else but Prim has asked me if their tribute was with me.

"Wait … Duke … do you know more about the others?" I ask.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't even think about that …" he says breathlessly, and I want him to shut up and tell me.

"They got everyone out of the Arena safely but you, Spruce, and Peeta," Haymitch says.

"Rue died in the escape," the male tribute from 11 adds. I've never been so happy and so miserable at once. I think of the sweet little girl I spent days with in the Arena and I am absolutely furious that they managed to save that _scum_ Anthony Stark but not her. I close my eyes tight and I swallow my bile.

"That's good news, little brother – your sweetheart's alive," Duke says and pats my back. I do open my eyes at that and shoot a look at Peeta – he looks away awkwardly but doesn't comment.

"Are you sure?" I ask. That seems too good to be true – I've been telling myself Lester is full of crap but he's made me picture her being violated and dying horribly so many times I guess some dumb part of my brain started believing it.

"Yes, Clint – I gave them one of your bows for her to use," Duke reassures. "I'll bet you she's got a Clint-shaped hole in her heart that's just be asking to be filled," he says and tousles my hair. I look up at Peeta who is now trying very hard to look away and wonder if Duke's really that clueless. But I can't be mad at him because I'm too busy having the realization that Katniss is absolutely alive, and so are Stephen and Brandy, and even though Rue's gone at least she wasn't killed the horrible way Lester described, and I smile as I lean back against his chest. I just really want to sleep now.

**Author's Note**

"Nanny goat" is the term for an adult female goat, and in my personal headcannon, District 10 equivalent slang for "wimp."

Blight is a tree disease that ruins the lumber, which makes me wonder why on Earth Blight's parents named him that.

Do I have three different made up cursewords in this? Yes I do.


	20. Best Laid Plans (Katniss)

Chapter 20

Best Laid Plans …

Katniss

I'm still shocked that they cleared Drusa as quickly as they did. Then again, she did have better training than any of us. But I don't entirely trust her. I don't think Thresh does either, considering he stares at her in the one training session where she joins us before the mission. Mostly they catch her up to speed on the basic idea – the boys make a flashy distraction while she and Shale provide me with cover while I sneak into the Presidential mansion and shoot Snow with Clint's bow. Then all six of us pose for the cameras when we are safely in the air. They also have her try on the stealth suit they hurriedly cut for her – it seems to fit more than well enough for our plans. She's kept herself in shape by insisting on weights for her room and apparently running in place for hours a day – a thought that is both amusing and sad to me.

It's interview night – we're doing it tonight, and hopefully providing enough of a distraction for Haymitch to use the secret weapon everyone's talking about. I know if Prim goes to the Arena – even if Plan B works and they keep her alive – that it'll destroy her. She won't be my little duck anymore – she'll carry the burden of everyone who dies for her with her forever. And worse – I think about what will happen to her afterwards, without even Haymitch to protect her in the Capitol. I just hope the Capitol doesn't find something awful to do to Peeta, but I don't know what he could do to protect her. I tell myself that's not going to happen – we're going to succeed and Haymitch is going to get my little sister out safely.

We gather on the flight deck – I chuckle when I see the boys. Tony's flight suit – I've never seen the whole thing – is quite ostentatious. It's red and gold and very shiny. Thresh is wearing a bold golden shirt under body armor of the same color. Stephen's is the best – he's wearing a tight red, white, and blue suit, also with heavy body armor and a helmet. The suit has a big star on the chest, the same as his shield in the same colors with the same star symbol. "What's this about?" I ask.

"It's the colors of America – the nation that was here before Panem, before the Devouring," he explains. "The star is something my friend Bucky used to draw. He made it our symbol and we put it on our stuff to make it our own."

"What's with the shield?" I ask – I've been wondering since he started training with it.  
"It was my idea too – I used to have a trashcan lid that I pretended was a shield and I got pretty good at fighting with it when the bigger kids picked on us." He may look a couple of years older now, but I can tell when he talks he's still the same sweet kid I've known all along – and I'm bothered he's going with us. After all, Brandy isn't. Then again, I'm not sure Brandy's all there.

I may laugh at the boys but us girls are dressed up too. We're all in black, since our mission is stealth, but our suits are all a little different. Mine was designed by Cinna – it's got little flares at the sleeves and touches of white (which can be turned off and turn inky black when I need them too) and the helmet is designed to that it brings to mind a mockingjay. Shale's has touches of the soft red of fox's fur (which can be turned off) and the shape of the helmet suggests fox's ears. There wasn't time to make anything fancy for Drusa since she came on all but literally at the last minute, but she wears her black suit like it was made for her. Until she puts her helmet on, her red hair stands out against it like the red of a black widow spider's mark.

Phillip's already gone – he took a train to the Capitol from District 12, loaded with coal in exchange for tesserae grain and other goods for the merchants. I wonder who he took with him to pose as his District 12 people. Hill is still here – she's supervising the family extractions from base. "Take your earpieces, put them in whichever ear is more comfortable. Secure them tightly." I take my earpiece and adjust it for my right ear. "The test will begin in a few seconds, adjust the volume with the knob at the base of the piece as needed. They'll adjust automatically to ambient noise levels but the adjustments will be proportional to the volume you set now."  
"Testing, testing …" It's Howard Stark's voice. I turn the volume down a little bit to a comfortable level.

"Take these," Hill says and begins to hand out these small, dark pills. I suspect I know what they are. "You'll find there's a compartment in all your suits for these pills. If you're captured, get them in your mouth and bite down as soon as possible. It will trigger a remote shut down of your hearing device so that it cannot be used to trace your comrades and release five milligrams of highly concentrated nightlock extract. I don't think I need to explain what that would do or why you should wait until you are certain you are going to be captured to take it." We all nod gravely.

"Is everyone ready?" We answer as rowdily as possible – of course we're ready.

We climb into a strange craft like nothing I've ever seen. We didn't see it at first because it was using the same invisible paneling as the big ship – Danvers turned it off so we could climb in. "Now that we have the arc reactors, we can build more traditional airplanes," Danvers says. I'm so glad she's our pilot. "I've been practicing flying – it'll move twice as fast as the hovercrafts and three times as high. The problem is it can't hover."

"So I'll have to be more careful with the harnesses," Boggs – a District 13 soldier – tells us with a smile. He's already sitting in the plane, by a crank attached to a cable and a harness. "You guys just hold on tight and I'll haul you up as we fly off." They had us practice getting pulled up while the hovercrafts were moving rather than stationary – now we know why.

It's a long flight to the Capitol, even in the faster plane. Shale sits practically in Tony's lap and they behave themselves for the most part but every now and then they can't resist kissing. We're followed by several support planes that will theoretically cover us. We know how much is riding on this. "I'm surprised Cressida didn't come with us," I say.

"That's what these are for," Tony explains, pointing to some little clear balls stacked in a corner. "When we're deployed, they'll follow – they'll hover and capture the footage, courtesy of Howard Stark. There's cameras in the plane as well."

"So they've caught you two making out so far?" Thresh asks, teasing. I chuckle a little, and Stephen smiles. Drusa looks ahead, still as stoic as usual.

"Since we're on camera," Tony says, changing the subject. "Katniss – how excited are you to see Prim again?"

"You have no idea," I say.

"And uh Drusa – you're very quiet. What are you thinking about?"  
"Thinking about our mission. As you should be," she says evenly. She obviously hasn't figured Tony out yet.

"Come on Drusa, he's just trying to keep us from going crazy. We're not as collected as you," Thresh says.

"Maybe that's exactly the problem," she says, and the plane goes silent for a long while.

Finally, we're over the Capitol. I take a deep breath and grip Clint's bow tight. We drop off the boys first – I hold my breath as we fly low in the same invisible mode the huge hovercraft that serves as base uses, and the back of the plane opens up. "Good luck guys," I tell them as they drop to the streets. Before the plane even closes, they're beset by Peacekeepers.

Danvers flies us to a different place – as close to the Presidential Mansion as she can get without triggering the advanced defenses that would detect us even though we're invisible. Then the back opens again, and we have to jump.

I don't quite land on my feet – neither does Shale, but of course Drusa does. She sneers at us – I ignore her and get to my feet and help Shale up.

We hear a commotion in the distance – the boys are already bringing the pain. We have to go – I want to be back on the plane with Danvers as soon as possible.

And I want to kill the monster who's overseen the Hunger Games for as long as anyone can remember, who's ordered countless deaths, who's forced victors to prostitute themselves, who had Clint and Spruce tortured to death, who tried to kill my little sister. I want to watch him die, bleed out from one of Clint's arrows to the throat. I've been waiting for this since they told me the mission.

We creep through the streets in the shadow of buildings, wearing the black stealth suits Pym designed for us and hoping they're enough to conceal us. We're in what's obviously the wealthy part of town – the houses are huge and ornate, making the victors' villages look like shacks. "Take your time, ladies – we've got an unexpected extra distraction across town," Howard tells us. As though we're going to actually go any slower.

We see what can only be the Presidential mansion – even with all the Peacekeepers at the training center and so many of them drawn off by the boys, there's a few standing at the gate and looking nervous. "We don't have to deal with them," Shale says, gesturing to an elm tree growing by the high fence – it's just high enough that we can climb it and use it to jump the fence. In fact – we can throw a rope and get to the roof easily enough, and just pray we aren't seen.

We start to climb the tree, but Drusa hesitates. "Not afraid of a little tree, are you precious?" I ask her.

"No – I'm worried about those guards." She follows us up. "You two go on to the roof, I'll take care of them," she whispers as she climbs. My stomach tightens – I don't think this is a good idea, but I don't have time to argue. We all climb the tree, hoping the boys' distraction holds and none of them get hurt. I'm sure the footage captured by the plane and the little floating cameras Howard designed is going to be used to make very exhilarating propos, but the important thing to me is that Snow will be dead.

Shale slings the rope onto the roof and the grapple hook catches on the rain gutter. She anchors it to a heavy branch and we start to slide across it while Drusa lowers herself to the ground. I watch her approach the guards. "Don't worry about her, Katniss, worry about the mission," Shale snaps, and I hurry the last bit across the rope.

Once on the roof I can see the boys fighting Peacekeepers two blocks down. Tony fires his beams onto Stephen's shield, and the wider beam that reflects out takes down three Peacekeepers at once. Thresh has the gun, and he seems to be enjoying mowing down the Peacekeepers who come at himself and the other boys a little too much. There's no way in hell they'll manage to advance to the mansion, which probably has something to do with the news I hear next. "Montgomery, Everdeen – you're in luck," Howard tells me through my earpiece. "They haven't initiated emergency protocols within the mansion – Snow's still in his study. It's on the east side of the building, fourth floor – there's a balcony. You can repel down. Hurry, if you don't mind." I know he's terrified for Tony's sake, but his voice is steady. His wife is probably a wreck right now.

I'm about to repel down when I hear Drusa shouting. "Please! My name is Drusa Romanov, I was held prisoner by the rebels. They're on the roof – they're going to kill the President!" I hesitate and turn my arrows on her.

"IGNORE HER KATNISS DO IT NOW!" Howard screams.

"She betrayed us …"  
"SHE DOESN'T KNOW ANYTHING! DO IT NOW!"

"YOU LYING BITCH!" I scream down at her and try to fire but Shale stops me, and only then do I realize my mistake. We were still hidden in the darkness – Drusa didn't specify where on the roof.

"THAT'S AN ORDER, EVERDEEN! NOW!"

"I'll hold them off," Shale says and starts trading fire with the Peacekeepers, and I feel sick to my stomach at how stupid I was, but I can't let my emotions stop me anymore. I hear Shale give an involuntary cry of pain as I go over the edge, and I apologize to her for my stupidity with every inch of rope.

"Shale?!" Tony calls desperately, and I know he's heard the whole thing. He'll hate me, but I can't worry about it now.

I repel down, expecting to face Peacekeepers running into the room, or find that Snow's fled. But instead he's sitting at the desk – the man I've only seen in pictures or from a distance, the old man with snowy white hair and puffy red lips and a rose in his lapel. He's sitting calmly at his desk, and he smiles up at me even as I blow out the window with one of Tony's charges. "I've been expecting you, Ms. Everdeen," he says calmly, casually brushing aside some broken glass that landed on his shirt. His calm bothers me, but I do what I have to. I notch an arrow in Clint's bow and raise it – I look right into those cold, snaky eyes and I fire right for his left eye …

And he catches it. Nobody should be able to move that fast, let alone an ancient Capitolian like Snow. Howard curses a blue streak in my ear as I stand there, confused and horrified. Snow smirks and breaks the arrow in his hands. "Is there any foundation to my suspicion that this weapon was made by young Mr. Barton?" he asks in that slow, soft, calm voice.

"Fire again! Fire with an explosive and then jump!" Howard yells. I know we're four stories up but I don't think to protest. I notch one of the explosive arrows and fire, he catches this one as well and laughs at me. It's a cold, terrible laugh. I jump off the edge of the balcony just as it detonates, and the blast rings in my ears and reverberates in my chest. I hit the ground hard, but the armor does its job and I don't think anything breaks. My left ear won't stop ringing though – thankfully my earpiece is in the right ear.

"Shale! Go!" Howard orders her. "Katniss, run – you can slip under the fence at a spot ten feet to your right if you slide your equipment under separately," he sounds more like the Howard I know now, but I know that's a façade. But he doesn't have to tell me twice – I find the gap he was talking about and slide under it and start to run as quick as I can – Peacekeepers are flooding back to the house now and they have floodlights – our suits won't help us much now. I'm down the street and running faster than I thought possible in my heavy armor before "Boys – go now." Which is their cue to start running in the opposite direction – a strategic retreat.

"Howard I can't move," Shale says.

"I'll try to get you from the roof," Danvers says, sounding worried.

"Can't take the risk, Danvers," Howard tells her, and I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"Shale! Hold on!" Tony yells.

"Tony! No!" Howard yells, but I know Tony won't listen. I don't dare look back but I know by now there's Peacekeepers coming for Shale. They shot to wound.

"Goodbye Tony," she says, in a voice that's strong and calm but also sad.

"NO!" Tony screams, but we hear the pop of her feed going dead, and we know she bit the nightlock capsule and it's too late even if Tony could get to her.

"TONY! GO BACK!" Howard yells, and I know Tony's going to get her body. "TONY! LISTEN TO ME!"

"She wouldn't want it, Tony!" Stephen yells. But Tony never listens to anyone.

"Everdeen, stop," Danvers tells me, and I freeze in place for just a second before I feel the harness around my waist, pulling me into the plane.

Once aboard I take a deep breath and let the events of the past few minutes sink in.

"We've gotta get Tony," I say desperately to the pilot seat – the situation is my fault.

"We get Thresh and Stephen first – they're sitting ducks without Tony," Danvers says bitterly.

We fly low over Thresh and Stephen – Stephen's wounded and leaning against Thresh but still on his feet. Boggs lowers the harness and scoops them both up at once – Thresh shields Stephen with his body and gets shot three times on his way up for his trouble. They turn the guns on the plane they can't see – it's going to take something a lot bigger than their guns to bring it down, but I don't take any relief from that because I know bigger weapons are probably on the way. The two medics immediately descend on Thresh and Stephen – Stephen is the worst off despite the fact Thresh has been shot three times. "Tony, follow," Danvers says into the radio. I look back at the mansion for the first time and see it swarming with Peacekeepers – on the roof and the grounds both, especially in the blast area, obviously looking for Snow. Tony blasts them left and right, desperately trying to get to Shale. "Tony! Come on! Now! She's dead, Tony, she won't feel anything else!" Danvers pleads.

Then, because this moment isn't horrible enough, I hear Howard cursing once again. "Snow is alive. I repeat, Snow is alive."

"What? He caught the damn explosive arrow!" I say into my piece. "He was still holding it when it blew – I think. Even if he threw it at the last minute, he was in the same room!"

"I know, Katniss. And yes he was still holding it. They should be scraping him off the ceiling – but he's up and moving." Is he even human?!

We've gone less than three hundred feet when Tony signals he's under the plane – he's in invisible mode too. She opens the doors – the wind blows past us and takes our breath away but only for a minute while Tony flies in, and then the door shuts once more.

He lands on the floor of the plane, and his suit disassembles immediately. He doesn't get up from the floor for a minute – he's staring at nothing in particular with wide eyes.

"Tony, I'm so sorry," I say softly. His eyes fall on me and turn to complete and utter fury – he gets up then and hits me hard in the face, so hard I stumble back and land against the side of the plane.

"How could you be so stupid?!" he demands as I pick myself up.

"I was just so mad about …" He grabs me and pushes me up against the wall again, his face inches from mine. He puts his arm against my throat and presses hard, cutting off my air.

"Tony stop!" Boggs yells and tries to pull him off. But I can take care of myself – I knee him in the groin and he stumbles back.

"Why did you leave Stephen and Thresh?" I demand, pointing out I'm not the only one who screwed up.

"Don't make this about me …"  
"Isn't everything?"

"You're one to talk – you'd still be sitting at base or in District 12 if your little sister hadn't been Arena-bound twice," he says and shoves me hard in the chest. I know it's true but I hate him for saying it and I punch him. He punches back. "I volunteered because I knew what I was doing. I wanted to save kids like Amp. Kids like Spruce. Kids like Shale," his voice cracks. "If your sister's name hadn't come up you would have been happy to just go on living under the Capitol's boot. So don't you _dare_ call me selfish, bitch." I know he's right but I don't want to admit it, so I just swallow and decide to let him yell. But then he just doesn't know when to stop. "You act like you mourned Spruce and Clint and Rue, but you'd have stabbed them in the back yourself if you'd been the last ones in the Arena." I charge him hard, taking us both to the floor, punching his exposed face over and over. He tries to protect himself but he hasn't had as much experience in barehanded fighting as me.

We feel huge hands pick us both up by the collar and throw us against the opposite wall. "It's hard enough to balance this damn thing!" Danvers yells back at us. Tony and I slide down the wall and look up to see Thresh, shaking with anger.

"I will beat you both into a bloody pulp if you don't shut up," he says in a quiet, deadly voice, and we know he means it. He must be feeling okay if he's still able to throw us around – then again that's probably not even hard for him. We nod and go to sit down, and as soon as we do Tony crumples, bending so low his head is way down on his knees and sobbing, and I can forgive what he said because I know what he lost and I know it's my fault. I put my arm around his shoulder and let him cry into my side. And as I do I think about what he said about Spruce and Clint and Rue and I remember Rue being carried off that plane, and all the times I've pictured Spruce and Clint being whipped or having their tongues cut out … and I start to cry too. We were going to end things – make things better for everyone, in their honor. We failed them. We got another friend killed instead.

We're sitting on the plane for what feels like hours when we hear Howard's voice again.

"The train is through the first checkpoint safely," he announces.

"The train? You got them all?" I ask, knowing he's heard it all and he probably hates me for antagonizing his son at a time like this.

"Yes we did – all thirty-nine victors who are on our side and your little sister, Everdeen." I breathe a sigh of relief – one less thing to worry about.

"There's … some other news."  
"Oh?"  
"We also picked up Clint Barton."

"You mean Duke right?" I ask, even though Duke was signed up and would count under the thirty-nine.

"No – we got Clint. He's alive. So is Banner – but he's in the wind right now." Which is as good as dead … but as though he's read my mind, Howard elaborates. "He's uh … taking care of himself right now. He's … not quite how you remember him. I've got a plane on the way to pick him up. He'll be with us soon." He clicks off to focus on other tasks – probably communicating with the train from the Capitol – and I sit there and try to process the information I've just been given.

Spruce and Clint are alive.


	21. Escape, Part I (Haymitch)

Chapter 21

Escape, Part 1

Haymitch

I don't think the little Barton boy is in good shape – pretty sure you're not supposed to sleep like that while your fingers are completely off. The girl – I have no idea who she is, but she looks like she's Capitol – doesn't seem happy about it either. She tries to keep him awake and she looks very concerned. Prim does too – and if Prim's worried, that only confirms my suspicions.

But I've got bigger things to worry about right now. Mainly, Emilianus tearing down the hallway towards us flanked by half a dozen Peacekeepers. Everyone instinctively steps between them and the two recently released prisoners. I could negotiate with them … but I don't really feel like it. I make a quick visual sweep of the Peacekeepers to make sure none of them are Coulson – all though I'd die of shock of Emilianus decided to team up with us – and then I throw the hammer. I knock down well over half of the Peacekeepers coming at us with one blow, and it comes soaring right back to my hand. I catch it, and I'm still amazed I can – I hear the whoosh of the hammer coming back to me and I feel the force of it against my palm. Most of them take off, but Emilianus keeps on charging. I don't wait for him to get to me, I run forward swinging. The others follow – they know the Peacekeepers were just blocking our way out. The Peacekeepers had guns, but Emilianus just has the huge broadsword he's been using in training. It's no match for the hammer – the blade shatters against the hammer. I could easily kill Blonski here and now, but its much more satisfying to punch him with my bare fist as I run past, leading all my compatriots toward the extraction point.

I come to a dead halt at the doors – there's about five million Peacekeepers all standing at the door, and they have guns. My hesitation is brief – we get help from an unexpected source.

A huge, naked green monster who looks like he's all muscle descends on the Peacekeepers, smashing them into the ground and shattering bones and organs with enormous fists. Bullets don't seem to be anything but an annoyance to the creature – he roars in rage as they bounce off his skin and leave angry welts, but doesn't stop his smashing. Most of the Peacekeepers scatter in complete panic, staining their shorts as they run. I hesitate to run past the creature – all though I guess this is Spruce and this is what the little Barton boy was talking about when he said they experimented on him and changed him into a mutt. The boy has a gift for understatement.

"It's okay! He saved us! He won't hurt us!" the little Capitol girl says confidently, and I decide I have to trust her and we run.

Some of the Peackeepers who have only retreated a few hundred feet fire at us, but they're so far away they don't have a good shot. Even so, it seems to enrage the Spruce beast – he roars and chases after them, and the few brave souls left flee at last.

The street lights go out and I know Howard just cut the power from here to the train tracks. I bless him heartily.

Unfortunately, our troubles aren't quite over.

The old man from 7 cries out in pain, and I whirl to see Emilianus, fumbling with a gun one of the Peacekeepers dropped. He has no experience with a gun but that doesn't stop him. I lift the hammer and get ready to throw it – but then the Spruce beast shows up and gets between us. I know we should keep going, but I want to see this. Johanna groans and keeps going – everyone goes around me and follows her. Blight is carrying Marty – I'm glad to see he doesn't look that bad. I wish I could see Emilianus' face – unfortunately the huge green monster is kind of in the way. Emilianus fires at him desperately, hitting him point blank but not making a dent. The beast looks down at him for a second, then kicks him. Blonski hits the side of the building and I'll be amazed if he's not dead. I laugh, and the green beast turns to face me. He smirks at me – suddenly I can see Spruce in his face. Peacekeepers start up half-hearted fire once again, and he chases after them once more, and I turn on my heel and run to catch up with the others.

I catch up with Blight carrying Marty first. "Why don't you just leave me?" Marty demands.

"Because you wouldn't hold up under torture and I don't have an axe," Blight answers bluntly, and I almost laugh. The others are already on the train – they must be waiting on us. Blight throws Marty – thankfully, his bullet wound doesn't look bad – onto the train none too gently, and then hops up himself, helped by Coulson, dressed like a typical conductor from District 6. The train starts to move – I take a leap and he catches me as well, pulling me in.

Coulson slams the door as the train picks up speed faster than trains generally do – we're taking full advantage of the camera blackout while we can. "What about Spruce?" The Capitol girl asks, with tears streaming down her face.

"I don't know, honey," Cecelia says and hugs her. Even if we could pick him up, I don't know if there's any way to undo what's been done to him – even if there is we might want to leave him like that until this rebellion thing's over. He seems to be pretty invincible this way. I choose not to say this out loud.

"Okay guys – let's move, Gale! We didn't bring you to sit around and stare!" Coulson orders – I've never seen him so on edge. He's got an ear piece in his ear, listening to the mysterious other op – I'm guessing it's going poorly. He looks directly at Gale as he yells – and I can see why. Gale is standing there staring at Clint Barton with a look I can only read as anger.

"Hawthorne – kindly pull your head out of your butt until we are no longer in mortal peril," I order him, which earns a very open laugh from Duke and a sheepish chuckle from Peeta. Red goes to Gale's cheeks but he snaps into action.

"Districts 3 through 6, come with me," he says authoritatively, and the victors from those districts step forward and follow him. He moves quickly, knowing exactly what to do and I admire his calm, even if he does have a massive chip on his shoulder.

There are two other people besides Coulson and Gale standing there, other rebels I assume. One takes District 1 and 7 through 9, another takes 10 through 12 – which of course includes me. "Leave Clint," Coulson tells Duke gently, putting his arms out to take Clint. "I'll take care of him." Duke hesitates, not wanting to let go, understandably.

"We've got very specific places set aside for you – and your brother needs medical attention. We'll find a place for him as soon as he's cared for. We just need to get through the checkpoints – we'll let you out to see him once we're through them all. I'll take care of him, I promise," Coulson says, and he sounds so calm and authoritative that Duke, slowly, hands Clint to Coulson. Then he turns away quickly and refuses to look any more, and the rebel in charge of our group leads us through the train.

"How bad is the other op going?" I ask as we walk. The rebel shakes his head.

"We'll debrief you when we get back to base – we don't know quite what the damage is yet. But it's … not looking good." I find myself worrying about Katniss, but push the thought to the back of my mind. I have myself and everyone on the train to worry about for now.

The rebel leads us to a cargo cart, and hides Duke and Maria in different places. There are secret compartments at the bottom of cargo boxes, and he lifts out a thin layer of tesserae grain and Duke climbs into one, and Maria into another. He puts it back – from the top it just looks like a typical shipment. Then he takes us to another cart and puts Chaff and Seeder in different places as well – this time a hollowed out air conditioner unit for Chaff and under a cart holding bananas (obviously meant for the merchant class) for Seeder. Then, yet another compartment for me and Peeta – Peeta being the first "mentor" to get hidden. They put me in a huge box of the drab skirts and blouses women wear in 12, and carefully arrange it so I can breathe through a very un-obvious straw sticking out of the cloth. I hope the clothes don't shift if the train has to stop or change direction suddenly. They make Peeta climb into the ceiling. I assume the others will be similarly hidden, and I'm hoping it's enough to get us through the checkpoints.


	22. Escape, Part II (Coulson)

Chapter 22

Escape, Part 2

Coulson

I risk some valuable time getting confirmation of the Capitol girl's identity from Howard. He runs her name and a picture of her I snap against the Capitol records he's hacked into. "Yes, she was arrested for … aid and comfort to the enemy," Howard says, and I can hear the sly smile in his voice. We know there's a reason Spruce saved her and we can guess who received the aid and comfort and I guess Howard is making some assumptions about the nature of it. I don't care about details, I just want to keep her safe. "Let's get you to a safe place … then I'll look out for Clint …"  
"I'm in training to be a doctor – I have basic medical training. I can help him," she says. I'm so glad – I was afraid we'd have to pull Prim between checkpoints, and Clint can't afford to wait.

I take them to my quarters and lay him in my bed, then rush to find the nearest med kit. It includes a couple of units of O negative blood and saline – both of which she's probably going to need. I return and find her already trying to tighten the makeshift tourniquets she made. I hand her two proper tourniquets, and then I shoot him with morphine while she ties them on – poor kid could use it.

I watch as she puts the tourniquets on what's left of his fingers – I know it means he'll have further amputations to remove the stumps because of it but I don't see another choice.

She runs the IV next – we let the blood flow into his veins, and hope it brings his volume up enough to reverse the shock. If not we'll give him saline as well, all though my (admittedly limited) experience with field medicine says blood tends to work better. I looked at Marty's wound really briefly, and he only got winged by a bullet – I'll have her look at him once Barton is ship shape (if that happens). Once the IV is going, she starts stitching the place on his arm where his tracker was. I watch the blood as it goes in, knowing he'll definitely need the second unit but hopefully not the saline.

She gets him sewn up and – yes, stabilized, judging by his vitals – and my next worry is that he smells. If I just stowed him under my bed, which is what I want to do, and Peacekeepers come aboard and check this room, they'll smell him from a mile away. But I need to worry about Betty first. "OK Betty – let's get you hidden. I'll worry about the rest." She nods tearfully – she's been in tears this whole time.

"Was Spruce in shape this bad?" I ask.

"Not quite – they made me clean him up before they experimented on him, and they fed him a little better … but they still whipped him and shocked him all the time," she answers. "They … They shot a little girl from his village in front of him, and he freaked out and attacked the guards, killed two of them with his bare hands, and they thought they could use that to their advantage." I cringe at the thought – but I'm not surprised at all. I wonder if we could have saved her if we had gone after them.

"It's all right – we'll pick him up when we can," I tell her truthfully, even though I don't know _if_ we can. 

I hide her in a supply closet behind some mops – I hope it's good enough.

I put the kit up, change my sheets (hoping they don't check the laundry and see all the blood on the sheets I just threw there), throw his clothes out the window, making sure they hit the ground and don't get caught on the train, and set him in my bathroom by the shower. Without his clothes, I can see how tortured he really was – it's all I can do not to cry when I see the keloid scars on his back from being whipped and the electric burns from being shocked, and the places where he's been cut, and I can count his ribs and feel his spine beneath my hands. I'm not a crier, at all, so that says a lot. There's no telling what psychological things they did to him – I see injection marks and I suspect hijacking. I start the water and dampen a washcloth in the stream, and start to gently scrub the dirt and grime and probably dried body fluids from his body – starting with the places he's least going to want me to clean since I want to do it while he's asleep from the morphine. Creatures crawl on his head and his body – body lice and head lice. My skin crawls but I try not to be squeamish – he needs me.

Carol confirms she's picked up the Avengers – the mission status is not good but I focus on the one I'm still in the middle of.

I haven't got him halfway clean when I get the warning we're approaching the checkpoint. I curse and try to think quickly. Gale can stall for a little bit, and he will since Clint's discovery would lead to everyone else, and even Gale's not that stupid or bitter, but it won't be long. I lift Clint into the shower, and turn it on full blast. I hate to do that to him on fresh stitches and with his fingers still open, but it's about to get even worse. The basic transport trains aren't exactly fancy, but they do have two or three scents in the showers – I turn them all on and blast poor Clint with them. It'll cover the smell.

Then I realize I'll need to be wet to sell it. So I apologize to him and hope he doesn't wake up and think he's about to be violated – and it suddenly occurs to me he might have been by the Capitol, all though I didn't notice any damage to that area when I cleaned him. But I'm no doctor. I stow my headpiece in its hiding place, strip off and step in the shower, standing under the water and the horribly clashing scents, and wait.

I hear them coming from a mile away – they thunder down the hall in force. I react quickly – I step out of the shower, not bothering to put on clothes or even grab a towel, and step out of my bathroom. When they knock, I open the door – I've perfected the wide, unfocused stare of a morphine addict. If I had other options I would not be standing naked in front of a bunch of Peacekeepers acting like a drooling idiot, but modesty and dignity are things I'm willing to sacrifice to save the lives of thirty-nine victors, Prim, Clint Barton and our young Capitol traitor. I give nonsensical answers, and act like I'm struggling to follow their questions – all while the water is still running. I hope the sound will cover any sound of Clint moaning in pain if he starts to wake.

I follow them, still naked, and make vague protests as they open some of the crates. Some of them have tributes and victors in them – I manage to still look unaffected even though this is the part that makes me most nervous. They don't bother to move things aside, thankfully. Gale sees me and red comes to his cheeks once more but he keeps a straight face.

Satisfied, the Peacekeepers agree to disembark. I wander back to my room, and I hear Gale telling one of them, "I told you – I'm the only one who isn't hooked on morphling on this train," exasperatedly.

I turn the shower down so it's not on Clint and turn off the scents – the only good thing is Clint is somewhat cleaner now and I probably just drowned a bunch of lice, plus he's still sleeping peacefully. I dry off and put my clothes back on, then continue washing until he's clean. It's the least I can do for him – I can't believe we left him and Spruce to rot in that horrible place. It's the least I can do for his brother, who joined us on blind faith. He'd probably go on a rampage and murder us if he knew we suspected his baby brother was alive and being tortured all along and did nothing – frankly we'd deserve it. I find a pair of scissors and cut his hair very short, practically to his scalp – they'll do that at base anyway – and throw the hair I cut in the trashcan and douse both the trashcan and Clint's head with a lot of rubbing alcohol. It's a horrible waste I would have balked at in 13, but I want to kill as many of the lice as possible. I'm more careful about rubbing it on his body, careful to avoid fresh wounds – it'll just sting and I know it's not actually that helpful about killing bacteria, and especially considering I'm going to give him oral antibiotics as soon as he's awake enough not to choke, it would just be needlessly cruel.

I get him clean, finally, and retrieve the med kit once again. I rub some burn ointment on his shock burns and some cut cream on his cuts and whip wounds, even though I know it'll do nothing for the latter. I find some clean clothes, a blanket, and a pillow for him. I dress him and set up a little bed for him under my own – then I carefully place him under it and tuck him in, before dropping the bed skirt so he's not obviously visible if we get stopped and searched at the next checkpoint. I set up an IV to try to get him rehydrated, and hide the pole by setting it between my wall and the post of my bed, and let him rest.

Time to get Betty to look after Marty.

Marty asks about Spruce – of course he does. I'm afraid Betty will burst into tears again, but she keeps it together and answers his question. I realize they're still trying to recreate the super soldier technology that Erskine brought us – but judging by the description Howard fed me of the huge creature Spruce has become, they haven't quite figured it out.

Once Marty's taken care of, I start to take Betty back to her hiding place, but as we walk through the cart where Prim is hidden, she calls to me. She doesn't know my name, so she calls me "Mr. Rebel Person." I smile at that.

"What do you need, Prim?" I ask.

"I want to see Clint," she says.

"Once we get through the last checkpoint you can get out and stay out unless they surprise us," I tell her. "He's in good condition now – Betty did a good job taking care of him."  
"I know I just … I want to see him," she says. "I want to see the boy my sister loves." I am very glad Gale is not with me and that Peeta's in a different cart, and it suddenly occurs to me that all three of the "boys who love Katniss" are on the same train, and I don't know if she loves any of them that way. Oh dear.

But I have bigger problems to worry about. Now that we're through the first checkpoint and everyone's been looked after medically, I have time to sit back and brood about the failure of the primary mission – which failed due to the fact it had the team I never wanted on it. Snow is alive, Shale is dead, and our cover was almost blown. One of the kids we left, against my wishes, is running wild through the Capitol and I have no idea if we can pick him up or fix the damage. The other one is currently sleeping under my bed, stable for now but tortured and under who knows what brainwashing. All in all, not the best day for the rebellion.

But then again, we have thirty-nine pissed-off victors now, safe and sound and with gratitude to us. That has to be worth something.

**Author's Note**

I have Phillip refer to it as "morphine" instead of "morphling" because I think District 13 has a lot of technical proficiency, so I don't think the word would have evolved there the way it did in most of the districts.


	23. Getting Spruce (Howard)

Chapter 23

Getting Spruce

Howard

I keep the Capitol-loyal computer people very busy with my misdirection on Spruce's tracker. I'm very grateful to Johanna for thinking to cut Clint's out from the beginning – I'll have the medic do the same when he picks up Spruce.

I don't have visual on him, just a location. But he suddenly slows, and then stops completely. I hope everything is okay – it'll be a about forty minutes until the plane gets to him.

Forty minutes later, he's still in the same place. I worry, knowing how very wrong the super soldier project went for some of the subjects. Not just for Spruce as a person, but because I've seen how destructive he is in his new form and it'd be a shame to lose that. I know that's callous but there are hundreds of lives at stake if this thing fails – and we're not off to a good start.

"I've got visual – he's back to normal," the pilot, Miles, says. Clint's testimony implies he can shift between states – and his being back to normal is a huge blessing. I was somewhat concerned about them getting him into the plane.

"Okay can you get low enough for the harness?"  
"Yes, easily." He does so while I continue distracting the Capitol's experts. I can call it off as soon as they get a certain distance away. "Have the medic cut out his tracker and toss it – leave it there."

"Copy." A few minutes later, I hear from Miles again. "We've got him, Riley says he's stable."

"Good, head on back to base," I say. Then Miles starts to laugh.

"What?"  
"Spruce says he's gonna punch Clint in the face for egging on the guard." I laugh.

"He's conscious?"  
"Not anymore – he said that when Riley woke him up to cut out the tracker and now he's asleep again." He must be exhausted if he's sleeping through that, but at least he's alive.


	24. Aftermath (Snow)

Chapter 24

Aftermath

President Snow

I stand back, listening down the hall as General Schmidt screams and yells. I hear him stomping and throwing things, and I imagine the way his nostrils must be flared and the spittle must be flying from his mouth. He expresses the slow-boiling rage that I hold inside. This is why I like him. "_YOU PUT HIM BACK IN THE CELL?!_" Schmidt screams at General Ross. "_YOU TOLD ME IT DIDN'T WORK!_"

"It didn't … he went back to normal … you saw him," Ross argues.  
"_I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD HE HAD CHANGED! I WOULD HAVE NOT LET HIM BE PUT BACK IN THAT CELL! BARTON WAS ALMOST READY TO TALK!_"

"We couldn't have known …"  
"_YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOUR DAUGHTER WAS HOT FOR HIM!_" I hear scuffling and a sound of rage like Ross threw a punch at that. It is quite amusing in the midst of an otherwise unmitigated disaster. I have the thought that maybe we should have taken Peeta and let Spruce be the victor – the nation seems to like him, and giving him to Ross's daughter as a paramour would have been agreeable to all parties. Except perhaps the general. But Spruce seemed more likely to have knowledge of the rebels' whereabouts, given his actions during the Games, and Peeta had already shown himself willing and able to play to the Capitol audience.

Schmidt comes running down the hall to me. "Mr. President – I request permission to execute Ross for gross incompetence."  
"You may do so when this rebellion is put down," I whisper. And then I speak more loudly so Ross can hear it too. "While it's tempting, I'm afraid I can't afford to lose any generals at the moment, Johan. Now tell me – do you have any updates on the condition of the guard that shot at Banner and Barton as they escaped?" He had shot at them with his toes – he didn't have enough unbroken bones to pull the trigger with either arm. That sort of determination, courage, and dexterity is worth rewarding.

"He's in critical condition but the doctors think he'll make it."

"Excellent. He's to receive the best care and rehabilitation available – even experimental procedures. The same with Mr. Blonski – I assume he is currently in similar condition?"  
"Worse. The doctors are amazed he's alive. He ruptured a few organs and broke every bone in his body. Literally every bone in his body – he even has several cracks in his skull. But even that's of less concern than the ruptured organs."  
"The initial treatments are probably to thank for the fact he is still alive. As soon as he's ambulatory, he should receive the final treatment now that we know it works."  
"Yes sir."

"As to the guards and Peacekeepers who fled …"  
"Yes sir. We can inflate the green creature's body count to cover the executions, sir."  
"No. You're going to televise the executions."  
"But sir …" he protests.

"What?" I ask, keeping the impatience from my voice.  
"Is now the time to antagonize the most loyal District? Most of the Peacekeepers and many of the guards come from District 2 …"  
"You call it antagonizing … I call it reminding them of their duty," I say flatly as I walk away to attend to other business.

I appear on TV to reassure the nation I am indeed fine – the cuts and scrapes will help humanize me to those loyal, but the fact they're the only marks I got from Katniss' explosive arrow – I curse my own idiocy for not realizing Stark would give her such a thing – will terrify the rebels who know the circumstances best. Let them turn that into a propaganda piece.

Internally, I debate fire bombing District 12. On the one hand, we will need to focus petroleum into fuel for the hovercrafts and it would help to have extra coal to fuel the city. But then again, one too many citizens of District 12 have become a thorn in my side. The pragmatic solution is to up their quota for coal and make them suffer slowly while having more fuel for the city, the more satisfying is to incinerate the filthy rats and watch the footage over and over again.

When all the cameras are gone for the night I offer my supplications to Father, apologizing for the delay in his offering. He will get it – and soon. There's a knock on my door, and if it were anyone but Schmidt and had he brought any news less important than what he did, he would have been dead for the interruption.

"Mr. President – I thought you should see this," he says and hands me his tablet. His video player is pulled up and it looks like security footage.

"If this is the video of Ross's daughter and Banner carrying on like …"

"No, sir," he cuts me off, and he sounds urgent. He never interrupts me except to agree, so I know it's important. I press play.

Haymitch Abernathy – that buffoon from District 12 – has Mjolnor. The hair stands up on the back of my neck, and for the first time in decades, I feel fear.

I exchange a look with Schmidt – he's the only one who knows the secret of my long rule over the land. "When did he get it?" I demand.

"My team is investigating as we speak," he says. "I will not sleep until we know."

"Will the landing site be identifiable after a bombing?" I ask.

"It is likely – even if the crater is hidden by physical damage, the magical signature should remain."  
"Very good. Burn District 12 to the ground."

"Because of Haymitch or because of the girl?"  
"Does it matter?" I ask, my voice rising for the first time. "Send the bombers now!"


	25. Orders (Katniss)

Chapter 25

Orders

Katniss

The plane lands on the flight deck, and we wait for it to stop. It's not exactly the triumphant return we thought it would be. But at least I'm waiting for the train that's going to bring me my sister. And Clint. And, supposedly, there will be a plane bringing back Spruce soon.

Tony and I wait for the medics to take Thresh and Stephen off to the infirmary, then we climb down. Hill's waiting for us – she does not look happy at all. "Fury wants to see you," Hill says as soon as our boots touch the flight deck. That does not sound good. She looks angry with us, but with Hill it's hard to tell.

We start to head inside and two guards follow us – if they don't even trust us to go to Fury's office by ourselves, we've really screwed up.

Fury's office is a small, sparse circular room. There's a huge oak desk in the middle. We stand in front of it, heads bowed low. He sits behind the desk, glaring at us, for a long while before he speaks.

"Am I to understand, Private Everdeen," he says slowly. "That you disregarded a direct order?"

"I was just concerned about …"  
"No excuses. You had your orders. Howard Stark was right – Drusa knows nothing. Even now, I am not overly concerned about her defection to the Capitol."

"I gave away our position. I'm sorry for that."  
"That was stupid," he agrees harshly.

"I … I got Shale killed," I say, and I almost choke on the words. I wait for Fury to agree or disagree – he doesn't, and that's worse than anything he could say out loud.

"And you – Private Stark. You also disobeyed orders …"  
"I was trying to get to Shale …"

"After she was dead. Do you think she would be happy with you, knowing that you got two of your comrades wounded trying to retrieve her body against direct orders?"

"The Capitol's going to do something awful to …"  
"An unfortunate truth. She won't however feel any of it and the question remains. Would she have wanted you to make her sacrifice mean nothing by getting yourself and your comrades killed?"

"I didn't …"  
"It's a miracle you didn't." Tony's hands are in fists and he looks furious, but he doesn't answer.

"I've got her father waiting down the hall – I'm now put in the position of informing him we lost his precious daughter and yank away the hope he had for less than a day. This is not a situation I'm happy with." He's out of his chair by now, and I feel the guilt of it pressing down on my chest. I'd give almost anything to have that moment back and keep my mouth shut.

"What's our punishment, sir?" I ask slowly, not sure I want to know the answer.

"I don't know Private – I haven't had time to think about it," he says. I never would have thought a statement of uncertainty could sound so cutting. "Your mother and Mr. Hawthorne's family are waiting for you – go and see them and wait on the hovercrafts while I think it over." I leave with my head bowed.

Tony follows shortly after. "I'm telling Shale's father what happened," he says bitterly. There's a huge lump in my throat but I don't dare say anything. Her dad's going to hate me – he's going to be right to hate me.

We find a group of people in the a little waiting area. Some guards lead an elderly woman I can only guess is Thresh's grandmother and his sister, aunt and uncle, and cousins – Rue's parents and siblings – to see him in the infirmary. Another guard takes a boy about Stephen's age – he's going to be surprised to see how much his friend has grown. There's a ton of other people – waiting on the victors, I assume.

The first person I know that I see isn't anyone from my family or Gale's – it's Peeta's dad. "Katniss! They won't tell me what's going on, where's Peeta?"

"Peeta should be on his way here now, Mr. Mellark," I tell him quickly, respectfully. I'm actually sort of glad to talk to him first. "They made a successful escape earlier tonight, and they're taking the train to District 12 and then hovercrafts are going to pick them up from the woods." He breathes a sigh of relief.

"What about you? Are you okay?" he asks, and the look of concern on his face is surprising.

"Yeah I'm …" I hesitate. "We had a mission. We failed. We lost Shale … the girl from District 5 in our Games … It was my fault …"  
"Oh Katniss …" he says and hugs me tight. It's awkward at first but in the end I'm glad for it. I see Peeta's brothers over his shoulder.

"Where's your wife?" He almost laughs.

"She was going to sound the alarm – the people who came and got us tied her in the basement. Keith should come across her first thing in the morning – that's the boy who brings us the grain from the train." I think of all the times I've seen Peeta or his brothers with a black eye and how henpecked the baker seems, and I am very sympathetic to his amusement at her situation. He's probably glad to be away from her.

A little figure hits me at full speed and wraps her arms around my hips. "Hi Posey," I say with a smile and pat her head. The rest of Gale's siblings follow quickly and wrap around me, hugging me tight. Then it's Hazelle herself. "Where's Gale?" I ask, worried.

"They didn't tell you? He's one of the District 12 workers on a trade train," she says, and she sounds worried.

"That's probably a very good thing – the victors are on their way here now by train. He was probably part of the mission." Somehow, it makes me feel better to know that Gale is there with Prim and Clint.

"Katniss," I suddenly hear Howard's voice in my ear and realize I'm still wearing my earpiece. "The victors are on the hovercrafts and ETA is ninety minutes. I thought you'd like to know that we picked up Spruce and he's in stable condition – the plane will be there with him in just under three hours." More good news – the night is looking up.

"Thanks Mr. Stark," I say, acknowledging the trouble he went through to cheer me up with that.

I need it, considering at that moment I look up and see a redheaded man I can only assume is Shale's father collapse into Tony's arms.

I tell all the little Hawthornes I love them and then find my mother. She's sitting on a chair and staring off in the distance like she does, probably not really believing other of her daughters are safe. "Mom," I say gently. "Prim's safe, they'll be here in forty minutes," I say quickly, knowing what else she needs to hear. She smiles for the first time in … I honestly can't remember the last time I saw her smile this genuinely. She holds me tight for a long while, crying what I assume are tears of joy on my shoulder. It's been so long since we've been safe and sound – maybe we've never been before.

Unfortunately, that illusion is very quickly shattered. "Katniss, Tony – get to the flight deck now," Howard's voice orders over my earpiece.

"What's wrong?"  
"There's hovercrafts with heavy artillery and bombing capability heading to District 12 and the Capitol's cut the power – I doubt very seriously they're on their way to deliver packets of sugar."

"What are we going to do?"  
"You? You and Mr. Hawthorne and whoever else knows the woods are going to work with Lieutenant Coulson to evacuate as many people as possible. Tony's joining the fleet we're sending out to hold them off as long as possible." My heart races.

"Who are you talking to?" Mom asks, worried.

"I have to go, Mom … there's something at home to take care of," I say calmly, trying not to worry her or anyone around me.


	26. Into the Woods Again (Coulson)

Chapter 26

Into the Woods Again

Coulson

We always dared each other to go outside. "Outside" was a place of dread for us – outside was where they had bombs and wild animals and something horrific called The Hunger Games. From what our parents said about it being about kids killing each other and the name, us kids were entirely convinced it was some kind of cannibalistic eating contest. We teased each other about going outside and getting bombed or eaten, and then turned around and called each other cowards for not going outside. So mythically dangerous was "outside" that it was said that anyone who could touch the fence of District 12 without getting caught would have a miracle granted to them.

It was fairly easy to sneak outside – usually taking one step beyond the concrete threshold or sticking a hand outside an air vent was considered sufficient to not be a coward. I was that kind of annoying kid who tattles on other kids and I would run to tell the adults so-and-so had been outside – usually they actually smiled. They knew the odds that a Capitol hovercraft was flying over right at that moment was extremely slim, and they couldn't stand to take that little bit of joy and sunshine away from the kids. They'd probably done it themselves at our age.

That makes it sound like we had abundant time to play in District 13. These ventures were usually done in the space of a few minutes between activities. We were scheduled for our daily exercise and our schooling from the time we were toddlers, and we started doing at least a small amount of work from a very young age. Even the limited free time was tightly scheduled and noted as "unstructured play" and came with about two dozen rules and regulations. Maybe that's why I sympathize more with the Careers than a lot of the people from the outliers – I know what it's like for the adults to look at you and not see a child.

Being the good little child I was, I never stuck my hand or my foot outside. I was called a coward all my life. Until my mother had cancer.

I planned it for weeks. I need so strongly to believe in the miraculous properties of District 12's fence that I didn't question it, even though I was old enough I should have. I found an old map of the Districts and pilfered it. I packed a water bottle and some snacks in my school backpack and stayed home from classes on the pretense of being sick. I never faked sick so my father didn't question it.

I knew, theoretically, how to navigate. Book learning got me further than you might expect.

The other kids watched in horror as I sprinted across the clearing – probably expecting a Capitol hovercraft to descend on me and take me to get eaten – and disappeared into the woods.

I still remember the utter terror of that hike – every little animal sound convinced me I was about to get eaten. It's lucky I didn't meet a bear or that might have been a reality. I did get bitten by just about every bug in the forest – I guess they liked the soft, never seen-the-sun skin of the District 13 rube. I followed the path I'd plotted out from the map, and hiked for the better part of the day, before falling asleep at the foot of a tree, convinced I would wake up being eaten or poisoned or something.

It took me a little less than a week to get to the fence. I made good time, being a healthy kid who wanted to get there as fast as possible – I ran up to the fence without thinking and touched it. If the electricity had actually been running, I would probably have been killed. I closed my eyes, wished for my mother to get better, and then stood there, waiting for something to happen, and then decided that she must have already been healed. "What are you doing on that side of the fence, little boy?" a man's voice asked. He sounded concerned – he had a little girl a couple of years younger than me with him. I was so terrified I didn't answer and instead took off. "Wait!" he called for me, and ran to a place where there's a pretty big gap in the fence, but I was so scared that I took off and was long gone into the forest before he got across it.

I remember how thin the man and the little girl looked – they weren't starving the way a lot of people in District 12 were, I later found out, but I knew they didn't eat enough. We were constantly threatened with starvation in District 13 – we were reminded that everyone had to do their part or else we might not be able to produce enough food and keep things running smoothly. But that's one thing you can say for a childhood in District 13 – we weren't starving. We might have just enough to eat, but it was enough.

I got back to District 13, almost two weeks after I set out, with skin red and blistered from the sun, dehydrated because I hadn't taken nearly enough water, and bit all over by the aforementioned bugs. They had sent out a search party for me, but they hadn't thought to look very far for me. My father cried and held me tight – the first time I'd ever seen him cry – when I climbed in through the air vent I'd climbed out of in the first place. He had taken to sitting by it during his limited leisure time, slightly increased to accommodate his grief over me since I was presumed dead, in what everyone thought was the vain hope I would make it back. He held me until some guards came by to pull me away.

I was given a medical check, treated for the dehydration and the sunburn. While I was recovering I was questioned endlessly about who, if anyone had seen me. I told them about the man and the little girl, and told the truth I hadn't seen any hovercrafts going over. As soon as I was better I got thrown in the brig for two weeks – the sentence for children under ten. No one ever called me a coward again.

I think it goes without saying that I didn't get my miracle.

As soon as we're past all the checkpoints, I let the others know they can leave their hiding places if they absolutely must, but all but beg them to consider staying in case we get stopped all of a sudden. The ones who fail to comply fail to surprise me.

Clint is the main attraction apparently. Duke wants to see his brother, Prim wants to see who she must think is her future brother-in-law, and Tack and Maria want to see their little neighbor, even though he's fast asleep. At least it keeps Gale from going to see him – all though at this point I think Gale has bigger things on his mind. If Clint wasn't asleep, I'd be a little worried about letting the others see him – I don't know if he's been hijacked or what his triggers might be. Prim just kind of looks at him in pity and checks Betty's work – something that amuses me. She sure is confident in her abilities. Duke lays on the floor by my bed looking at his brother breathe in and out like he's still not entirely convinced he's still alive.

Johanna finds Betty – she wants to know all about the boys' ordeal and Spruce's transformation. I'm interested to know that as well, so I listen. I'm relieved when Betty says he transformed and turned back before – it gives me hope that he'll be okay. If he can shift back and forth, he might be invaluable in the rebellion – but I don't know how damaged he might be by his captivity. He could easily be hijacked, considering they wanted to use him as a weapon, or just severely traumatized.

We're almost home free – the train pulls into District 12 with no surprise stops. By now the Capitol knows they're gone, but the radio reports suggest that they think we picked them up in hovercrafts. They don't know how the one that picked up the Avengers moved so quickly – they haven't guessed we've rediscovered out how to build and power airplanes.

Gale and I start to unload the grain and put it in the storehouse for the merchants and their errand boys to pick up tomorrow morning. They'll complain they were shorted and I'm sure that's when the Capitol will figure out how we did it. While we do, my agents lead the victors out in pairs to rendezvous with the hovercrafts. They take Clint and Betty first – Clint needs proper medical attention and I don't want to give Betty too much opportunity to freak out before she finds herself somewhere safe and sound with us. Gale and I work quickly, and we get the whole thing unloaded with a few minutes to spare, and meet up with the last group of victors to go – Finnick, Johanna, Haymitch, Duke, and Peeta. The hovercraft takes off and we sit back, relieved that at least this mission has gone swimmingly.

I'm just letting myself relax when I get the call from Howard. I curse. "Drop me and Hawthorne off," I tell the pilot.

"Why, Coulson, what's wrong?" Haymitch asks, and I explain the situation as quickly as I can.

"We're not leaving," Johanna says as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

"I can help – people know me, they trust me," Peeta says.

"Maybe I can hold them off," Haymitch says. I look at him skeptically – he may have the hammer of the gods, but I still doubt he can do much good against hovercrafts.

"Who's staying?" I ask. Everyone in the hovercraft raises their hand. I smile. Now these tributes, I support allowing in the rebellion.

The pilot turns around to take us back. I turn on my radio to apprise Howard. "Howard, my group's staying to help. How many hovercrafts can you guys spare for evacuation?"  
"Fury says five."

"Oh hell – that's only giving me two hundred fifty seats, plus the fifteen I can get on this one. I can't get seven thousand seven hundred people through the forest … especially not in less than a week, let alone four hours." Despite the seriousness of the situation, I see Haymitch stifling a laugh – he's never seen me question orders before.  
"Sorry – that's his orders. The rest are going to try to buy you some time."

"Will he at least authorize multiple trips?"

"Yes – I wouldn't sit around waiting for them though."  
"Good – we can get the disabled, the very elderly, and the little kids on them. We can probably afford to overload it a little if most of the passengers are kids."

"Right but be cautious about that you don't want …"  
"Understood," I say briskly, but I keep the tone out of my voice. I'm not an idiot – I know what happens to overloaded hovercrafts.

"We'll send you Katniss and some others to help."

"Thank you. I'm going to brief everyone – keep the line open," I say, and turn to my group. "The first thing we have to do," I tell them. "Is either subdue the Peacekeepers or get them on board. They have most certainly not been warned about the impending attack and are considered collateral damage by the Capitol – most of them are just looking to get their tour done and get their pension, so they might be very willing to help."  
"The ones we've had for years will help – but they sent several new guys who are real hardasses," Gale explains. I nod. "We'll probably have to kill them. Duke, Johanna, Finnick, you'll come with me to do that. Peeta, Gale – start gathering people. Knock and tell them to come down here – if they can't even make it that far, tell them to wait on the porch and we'll get them later. Once you've told everyone go back and get people off porches. Haymitch you stay here – the first fifteen disabled people or elderly or children go on the hovercraft and then tell the pilot to take off. Get two hundred fifty people ready to wait on the other hovercrafts – pick out the very elderly, the disabled, children too heavy to be carried easily by adults but too young to walk a long distance, and visibly pregnant women. It's got to be first come, first serve on that or we'll have too much fighting. Have them already divided in five groups of fifty. If, by some miracle, you have more spots after every person who falls into the groups I mentioned, take older and younger children, anyone who looks like they're over fifty, any woman who says she's pregnant until you fill the spots. Have everyone else wait outside the fence. Once I join you, Gale, we can start leading people out – you can leave some kind of sign for Katniss to follow. When we get as far as you know, hopefully we'll be close enough to District 13 I can take over and if not we just do our best. Katniss and a few others are going to be joining us in about forty minutes but for obvious reasons we can't afford to wait for them. Everyone understand?" They all nod in agreement and say yes in some form. "All right – the current estimated time of arrival for the bombers is four hours and fifteen minutes, but Fury's sending a fleet to try to fight them and buy us time. But we assume all we have is four hours to get into the woods and as far as we can. Let's go."

**Author's Note**

I assume that with the events going so differently in the seventy-fourth games, not as much of the rebellion would have been focused in District 12, and therefore the crackdown there isn't as hard as in in the books.


	27. Peacekeepers (Finnick)

Chapter 27

Peacekeepers

Finnick

The redheaded Peacekeeper with the night shift on the east side of town – it's still a little mind blowing that District 12 is so small they only have three Peacekeepers with a night shift, and I thought 4 was small – is the first on our list. We're armed with steak knives and a pickaxe Gale grabbed for us from his house – I don't like our odds against guns. So, clearly, stealth is the way to go.

Coulson sneaks up behind him and grabs him, hands over his mouth. He could probably snap his neck if he wanted to, but Gale pegged him as one of the ones we might turn. Coulson wraps one arm over his mouth, still controlling him, and puts a hand over his, keeping him from pulling the trigger on his gun. His efficiency scares me a little.

Johanna and I rush him from behind and take the gun away – Duke's currently keeping watch with a couple of knives he's ready to throw. I still don't like our odds against guns.

"Listen very closely – it's not just another power outage. There are bomber hovercrafts on their way here to incinerate this whole District. They'll be here in four hours. We're going to evacuate everyone – will you help or do we have to kill you?" Coulson asks him. He says it calmly, like he's questioning him about the weather. He takes his arm away and puts it in position to snap the Peacekeeper's neck if he screams.

"Why should I believe you?" The redhead demands.  
"Three of the victors who escaped today are standing in front of you – you've gotta think we've got some kind of inside information to pull off that escape," Johanna says with a wicked smile.

"Good point. Hell yes. Did you see what they did to the guards who ran from the monster?" We haven't, but I assume it wasn't good.  
"Very good. We will hold onto your weapon for the time being. Please begin evacuating people from the north end of town – Peeta's already started on the south end," Coulson says, and we let him go.

"Aren't you worried he'll tip off the Capitol?" Duke asks.  
"They're already sending bombers, what else are they going to do? Just make sure he doesn't head towards where the other four are stationed," Coulson says. "Keep your eye on him while we go pay the others a visit." He hands him the gun and we take off.

The Peacekeeper on shift on the other end of town has been here a while, and she's the same way – we send her up into what Gale called the Seam to help Gale evacuate everyone up there, followed by Johanna. As we make our way towards the Peacekeepers' quarters, I see people starting to hurry towards the fence. It's going slow – I know everyone wants to take the time to get dressed and gather up at least some of their possessions, and I wish we could stress how very little time they actually have for that. Haymitch is the one waiting by the fence, directing people. Coulson says he already sent the hovercraft that was supposed to carry us back to the mysterious base I've heard so much about – I hope we're going to have enough space on the hovercrafts for everyone who really needs it. "What do they use to move coal?" I ask.

"Wheelbarrows mostly – a few trucks and wagons," Coulson answers.

"If there's children and old people who don't get on the hovercrafts, can we use those?"  
"The wheelbarrows and the wagons will be useless in the woods – we can knock down the fence and take the trucks. Good thinking, Finnick." We come to the main quarters. "Are we going in?" I ask.

"No – I'll stand guard. When we've got the civilians safe and sound, Darius and Purnia can try to negotiate with them. Why don't you go up and mention the trucks to someone?"

"You sure you got this?" I ask, knowing that even as small as District 12 is, there must be at least two dozen more Peacekeepers on the other side, plus the head Peacekeeper is somewhere in the nice house right next to it.

"Yeah – don't even worry about it," he says flippantly. "Go tell Haymitch to use that hammer to knock down the fence. Then go take Gale's place knocking on doors, give him this, and tell him to start getting the coal trucks and loading up any of the non-walkers we can't get on the hovercrafts," he says and gives me the rifle he took from the redhead Peacekeeper, while holding onto the gun he got from the woman. Reluctantly, I do as I'm told.

I meet up with Haymitch. There's already about forty people set aside for the hovercrafts, and quite a few waiting nervously by the fence. "Hey Haymitch – wanna knock the fence over so we can use the trucks too?" I ask him.

"You bet," he says with a smile and strides over to the fence that has kept District 12 held in for years. "Stand back a bit, I'm not sure which way it'll fall," he tells the people already gathered. He swings the hammer at one support pole after another and the hammer just slams right through them. The fence starts to fall over – sure enough towards the outside. It's broken in half – still too high for the trucks. He curses and goes around through the gap to hit lower on the poles from the other side. I notice he keeps an eye on the western sky between hits, and I wonder how much he can actually help with his hammer. The fence goes down completely, to cheering from everyone gathered, and I know I've got another task to do.

I head in the same direction Johanna went since she and Gale were both working in the Seam – I move as quickly as I can, knowing that this will be both the shortest and the longest four hours of my life.


	28. Appearances (Coulson)

Chapter 28

Appearances

Coulson

I join Haymitch at the fence – my hands are steady and I'm ready to answer questions. "What happened?" Haymitch asks me. "We heard gunshots ..."  
"One of the Peacekeepers woke up, finally." The evacuation isn't exactly quiet. "I told him what's coming," at gunpoint. "He and several of the others decided their lives weren't worth loyalty to the Capitol, the others disagreed."

"You make it sound … quiet."  
"I know." It's my nature – besides there are too many people around. "Why don't you go up to the Seam since people know you there? Send Johanna here to me, if you see her."

I fight almost constantly with the people coming in – everyone wants to send all their kids and every woman says she's pregnant and everyone insists their parents are too old to walk. I have to stick to my guns, and I know I'm still not going to have a seat for everyone who needs it. I just hope we can them all on the trucks.

Johanna joins me and she's much less diplomatic than me – she takes the little kids and old people she wants and doesn't take lip from the parents who want their kids taken too.

That's when Howard tells me the bad news. "You're not taking them to District 13. Just get them into the woods as far as you can and we'll make our way to them and pick them up a few at a time with …"  
"That's unacceptable," I say, to the confusion of those around me. I want to point out they'll all die – headquarters moves way too slowly to get to us before the Capitol. But I don't dare say that in earshot of everyone else.

"Coin's refusing to let you in – at least you have a shot if you head for us."

"Hold on. Johanna, take over for me for a second." I look at my watch – our hovercrafts should be here by now and I don't know what's taking them so long. "If the hovercrafts come, load the first one and then get all of the second group on the second one and pull more from the crowd as they come in – they won't leave until they're full. If the pilot clears it you can add a few babies for the grandparents to hold in their arms."

I step off deeper into the woods, far beyond the earshot of anyone waiting, and open a different channel. "This is Lieutenant Coulson requesting a conference with President Coin's advisors. Phillip Coulson – Number 421962." I listen to static for a long time and then, to my surprise, the voice I hear isn't one of Coin's advisors … it's the woman herself.

"Lieutenant Coulson," she says evenly. She opposed my being taken into Fury's ranks because of my time in the brig – a lot of the District 13 soldiers went hog wild when they got away from 13's strict regulations, and she thought I'd be one. "Ma'am – with all due respect I think not allowing District 12 into your doors is a huge mistake. We've got eight thousand people here, eight thousand good, innocent people …"  
"I'm afraid I cannot allow sentiment to affect this decision, Lieutenant." Not that the old crone has any sentiment. But I have to think how to spin it to her.

"I think you can, ma'am – not yours. The people's. Think about it – eight thousand people, snatched from the jaws of the Capitol to a new life outside of Snow's iron grip … Eight thousand people, saved by the generosity and courage of District 13 and their leader, President Alma Coin." I think Fury sees working for Alma Coin as a necessary evil – I do as well. As I talk to her, I hear the whirl of the hovercrafts and almost breathe a sigh of relief. "If you don't, they're going to die like rats in the forest and the Capitol will sell their deaths as justice and the cause will lose eight thousand potential soldiers and support staff."

"Very well. The doors will be open until the sirens go off – after that, you're on your own."

"Thank you, ma'am."  
"If you want them safe, get them here ahead of the bombers."

"Understood." My line crackles dead, and I tune it back to talk to Howard.

"I convinced the President. We're going to District 13. But I wouldn't be surprised if she closes the door on us. But it's Plan A for now."

"How'd you do that?"

"I have my ways," I say mysteriously. "I have to go back – I moved aside so I wouldn't panic anyone."

I step back into the clearing and see Katniss loading a little girl into the first hovercraft. I think she's fine where she is for now. Gale's already brought two of the trucks, but he's not here right now so I assume he's gone for another one. "I already sent Thresh to start getting people off porches and double-checking the houses," Johanna calls to me as she shoves a man with no legs, none too gently, into a seat on the hovercraft.

"I thought Thresh was wounded."  
"He was. He's holding up well though," Katniss answers as she starts fastening seat belts on some of the little ones. She manages to be a little bit gentler than Johanna – but comfort is not my concern right now. I open my mouth to try to impress this on Katniss, but then I notice who's choosing the people to go on the hovercrafts next.

I could break down, I could curse at headquarters for sending me Stephen, I could run over and hug him and check his wound – I can see the place where his uniform is torn and the skin underneath is covered in blood-soaked bandages – but I know how important appearances are and I don't want to panic the residents and I don't want Stephen to know I see him as a child, even though I do. So I head over to Katniss. "Do you have something from headquarters for me?" She throws me a trunk. I open it – yes! "Katniss, do you know where they keep the coal trucks?"  
"Yes but I've never driven them."  
"I have – I can help her," a middle-aged man says quickly.

"Go – in fact …" I take out one of the loudspeakers I was sent by headquarters and turn it on. It squeals with static but they'll be able to hear me. "Attention – who here has experience driving the coal trucks?" Almost all of the men and women over eighteen raise their hands. "How many are there in the District?" I ask Katniss.  
"About fifteen," she answers. I pick twelve of the people at random.

"Go and get the trucks, bring them back here. Katniss, go ahead and go help load some more people," I say. With that, I go back to picking out people to load on the hovercrafts – now helped by Stephen.

"I'm proud of you, Stephen," I take a moment to tell him.

"You don't have to say that," he says modestly. I wish I had more time to tell him I mean it, but at the moment there's none to spare.

Duke comes back with the redheaded night watchman. I ask how they get around here, and the Peacekeeper knows what I'm asking. "I'll get the jeep – you can get quite a few kids in there."

"Go," I tell him. "Duke, stay – I want to take you with us. How good you think you are with that gun?"  
"I can aim just about anything."  
"Good." A gun will be no good against a hovercraft but it'll hopefully serve to calm everyone's nerves.

As soon as Gale comes back with the next truck, I stop him. "Gale, we have to start leading them out," I say.

"We haven't got nearly everyone yet," he protests.

"I know. Katniss can take the rest." At the sound of her name he looks up for her and finds her almost immediately – like he has vision specifically to pinpoint her.

"Katniss?" he calls.

"Gale!" She runs into his arms and hugs him tight.

"What about …"  
"I saw our families – they're safe," she says quickly. They know they can't stay for long though – they let go almost immediately and she goes back to what she's doing – we've got the second hovercraft almost ready to go and the first one's been gone for a few minutes.

I reach in the trunk from headquarters and give Gale one of the four pairs of night vision goggles and take one for myself. I turn on the megaphone once again. "Listen up. Mr. Hawthorne and I are going to take whoever's already here. We're going to move quickly so if you're afraid of getting left behind wait – Ms. Everdeen will lead the rest of you. We've got a couple of hours before dawn – but we don't have time to wait. While we wait on dawn, I want everyone to hold hands or tie yourself to the next person or whatever you can do to physically connect yourself to someone. We do not want to lose anyone. Do you understand?" Most people nod but a few hang back – I decide that's good enough. "Everyone hold hands," I say, and take the nearest person's hand. "Gale – lead on."

We take off at a good pace. I know we can't maintain it but I wish we could. I can only hope that Tony and the airplanes and our hovercrafts buy us some time.


	29. Dogfight (Tony)

Chapter 29

Dogfight

Tony

I have one chance to prove we're not total screw-ups. Well, I say that. I'm hoping Katniss, Thresh, and Stephen do their thing well. I wish I were with them.

Instead, I ride in the same plane with Danvers where I was holding Shale for the last time just a few hours ago. I take a deep breath and swallow the thought – and remember I get to kill some Capitol soldiers in a few minutes. Maybe it's a good thing I'm here.

"I've never seen District 12. Guess I never will," I say.

"You're not missing much," Danvers says dismissively. "Only thing of any value in it is the people anyway." Phillip says she's from District 8 originally – she ran when her name came up in preliminaries at her last Reaping. She wasn't drawn anyway, but she's still considered a traitor and she would have been made an Avox or worse if they'd caught her. Instead, she made it all the way to the, to her, mythical District 13 and they sent her to Fury to be trained when they realized she had a talent for mechanics and was good at following orders. She probably passed by District 12 on her way – the two smallest Districts are very close to one another, which is the only hope District 12 has right now.

Well, that, and us.

"We're almost there, Tony. Get ready," Danvers says. The handful of planes are the first ones here – we're on the front lines and our risk is the greatest.

I take a breath. The back of the plane opens. I smile and trigger the thrusters.

I'm flying in invisible mode – I fly under a hovercraft and take sight of the weapons on it. I fly into the underside, punching through it to the engine. I put power to the hydraulics on my arms and yank part of it out. We're over the wilds right now, but when we get over District 8 in a few minutes, I'll have to watch where all the debris falls. Unlike the Capitol, we care about collateral damage.

The hovercraft begins to tumble to the ground – I can hear them frantically calling into the radio, but I remember what they're on their way to do, harden my heart and press on. Danvers and the other planes open fire on the hovercrafts. The hovercrafts are very outclassed but there's waves and waves of them – and more will come as needed. But hopefully the process of fighting and evading us will slow them down enough to give Coulson and Katniss and this Gale guy enough time to get everyone to District 13. It's a week's hike under good conditions – very close for distance between two districts, but an insane distance when you're trying to move eight thousand people, including children and elderly. Even assuming that week was factoring a full eight hours of sleep and even the old people are going to move at a good clip since their lives depend on it, it's going to take at least four days to get everyone out. We're going to do our best to give them that.

The Capitol pilots fire in my general direction and in the direction of the planes, but of course they can't really see us. If they're smart they'll smoke bomb us or something – I hope they're not smart.

I fly hard and fast, hitting engines and blasting out weapons with my repulsors. I dodge missiles – they move slow enough it's not even that challenging. I think of Shale and Amp with every one I take down – I know they weren't the ones who killed them, not directly, but it's how I keep going despite the fear and the instinctive hesitation because I know most of the people in the hovercrafts I destroy will die. I don't even know how much they want to be here, if they're thinking of their families at home and planning to get drunk or stoned to numb the guilt from what they were about to do – and I can't let myself worry about it too much. The rebellion has their good people – Stephen, Peeta, Spruce. I'm the monster I have to be to protect the civilians caught in the crosshairs. Maybe I'll hate myself for it someday – but at the moment, I gnash my teeth and cheer like a wild man as I send people to their deaths.


	30. Base (Spruce)

Chapter 30

Base

Spruce

I stir slowly. Everything is blurry and my limbs and head feel heavy. "You've been sedated – we're keeping you under until we know what your triggers are," a doctor tells me softly. "I'm Doctor Samson – I'm with the United Rebel Forces." He has a District 7 accent though – I've been waiting to hear that accent for so, so long. I start to cry because he sounds like home.

"How many … How many people did I kill, doctor?" I ask, shaking.

"Don't do that to yourself, Spruce – you saved Clint Barton and Betty Ross, and the distraction you provided was instrumental in allowing the previous victors to escape. We're not sure how many but at least a few of the political prisoners escaped when you did. You've done an immense amount of good, Spruce."

"Johanna! Is Johanna …"  
"Johanna's currently helping the rebels evacuate District 12." I want to ask why District 12 has to be evacuated but I'm too weak to ask.  
"But she's not in the Capitol?"  
"She's not."

"Good. And … what about the other tributes … the ones in my Games …"

"Most of them were rescued. Katniss, Stephen, Thresh, and Tony are currently helping in the evacuation, Brandy's safe here at base." I want to ask what happened to Shale and Rue, especially sweet little Rue, but again, I'm too weak to ask. I want to fall asleep but I look over and see Betty. The way my vision is dimmed by the drugs, it looks like she has a halo and she looks even more like an angel than usual. I manage to lift my hand enough to take her hand.

"How's Clint?" I ask and fight to keep my eyes open.

"He's stable, but he's also sedated at the moment – we're concerned he may have been hijacked."  
"Maybe – I couldn't see him."  
"Were you hijacked?"  
"No. I think they were counting on my … condition … to keep me berserk and attacking who they wanted. I'm glad they were wrong." The Other Guy came through for me.

"I see. Do you have an idea what Clint's triggers might be if he was hijacked?" I need to tell them about what they showed him … the edited footage of Tony and Brandy …

"T …" I can't keep my eyes open and my tongue is heavy in my mouth. "T … They had footage of … Hurting Brandy … they did something to make it …

"It's okay, Spruce – we'll talk later," Dr. Samson tells me comfortingly, and Betty squeezes my hand, and that's the last thing I know before I sleep.


	31. District 13 (Gale)

Chapter 31

District 13

Gale

I didn't want to leave Katniss and the others – not when we've got barely three hundred people – but Coulson hasn't led us wrong so far.

We've been walking for almost two whole days – the sun came up and then went down again twice. A few times I went too fast, and Coulson had to holler at me to slow down. We stopped a few times – some people brought water and food but most of us don't even have that, myself included. I'm so thirsty I could spit cotton and I'm starving – but that's the least of my worries.

A few hours ago we ran out of woods I know – and unfortunately we're not into woods Coulson knows yet. "I came this way once," he says mysteriously, but he apparently doesn't remember it. Even so, he knows the direction we need to go, and we trade places – he navigates and I hold hands with the leader of the line. We just headed straight for his district as the crow flies without any knowledge of what the best paths were, and unfortunately that means going over some obstacles I'm not happy about. As I walk I tear down small low-hanging branches and propping them up against tree trunks – it looks very obvious and even in the dark Katniss will see it, especially with the fancy goggles we have. I wasn't sure why he was having me do it until now – now it's really important because this is beyond the woods we know.

"How close are they?" I ask since Coulson has the earpiece.

"Not close enough," he says flatly. He won't tell me anything more – I would be angry but I know he doesn't want to worry the people behind me.

Around midnight (I think, it's getting hard to tell), Coulson breathes a sigh of relief. He recognizes a landmark, and we start to move faster and over an easier path. I wonder if Katniss will wonder why we led her over such steep hills and rocky crevices up until now. "How do you know these woods, Coulson? I thought you said you guys stayed inside."  
"We did – up until the last six years or so. Then they picked some of us to train, and we'd go out in the woods to do it."

"When's the one time you came further?"  
"I was a kid. I made it all the way to the District 12 fence."  
"Why?" He doesn't answer – I decide not to press him, not when we have so many things to worry about.

We walk on through the night – the sun starts coming up again and Coulson and I take off our goggles. By now a few of the weaker ones have fainted and they're being carried – which makes us slow down even more. "We're almost there," Coulson reassures the crowd using his megaphone. "We're going to rest now for about an hour, and then if we walk without stopping again but at the rate we've been going, we should be there in four hours." We haven't taken a rest so long since we started out. "We're going to take you down to the bomb shelter – there's going to be medics to look over anyone who's become dehydrated." So everyone. "The Capitol's probably going to figure out where we've gone and they'll probably bomb District 13 – don't be worried, the bomb shelters are deep and more than strong enough to withstand a nuclear bomb – regular firebombing is practically a nonissue. We're going to get everyone taken care of and find a place for you in District 13 – we'll get everyone healthy and up to weight." Coulson knows exactly how to encourage the starving residents of District 12, and the people in the group look like they're ready to go right now, forget the hour's rest.

Coulson and I rest against a tree – me on one side, he on the other. "I won't feel right waiting there with everyone still back there."  
"Who says we are?" Coulson asks as he closes his eyes.

"You mean …"  
"Yeah. We'll take an hour, get rehydrated and some food in our stomachs and then head back and help. The hovercrafts took off and got there safely – Fury authorized them to come back and they're picking up people from Katniss's group a few at a time." I wonder how exactly they're managing that considering what a rigmarole it was to get people picked out the first time. But as soon as I sit down exhaustion comes over me and I can't fight sleep anymore.

Coulson wakes me – he had his watch set to make a sound after an hour, and it woke him but no one else. I borrow his megaphone. "Okay, everyone up," I call. "We've got four hours to extra food and safety." Only after I say it do I realize I prioritized extra food over safety – but I'm sure most of the people will agree with that anyway.

We march on, and Coulson goes quite a bit faster than he has been – and the people keep up. I'm not sure if it's just knowing we're so close and it's almost over or the promise of food that's giving everyone the strength. The mood in the group is palpably cheerier – there's more laughter and talking as we go. It's less than four hours when we reach a large clearing. I've seen the footage on TV all my life, but now I'm here. All that's above ground is ruins – but I've heard rumors the survivors slowly but surely dug out a massive underground structure beneath the ruins

"Home sweet home?" I ask Coulson.

"You could say that."

At the sight of the clearing half the people with us take off running. Coulson sighs and runs with them – he really hauls it and makes it to the door before the first person from District 12, eleven-year-old Hattie Lawrence from the Seam. I guess he's gotta vouch for us or something. I stay back at the edge of the clearing, counting everyone as they go by to make sure we didn't lose anyone. We didn't, unless it was between setting out and the first break – I count three hundred and two, just like I did the first time we stopped. Poor Jim Todd's carrying his brother Jeff, and has been for hours – he's the last one through and he looks like he's about to pass out like Jeff. I take Jeff and follow Jim across the clearing. It occurs to me I'm finally, finally free from the Capitol – I was so worried about getting everyone to safety that didn't even occur to me. I smile as I cross the threshold into the concrete structure. Coulson's waiting for us at the door. "Welcome to District 13," he tells me with a smile – I don't think I've seen him smile before.

**Author Comment:**

Told ya I don't hate Gale.


	32. Follow the Leader (Katniss)

Chapter 32

Follow the Leader

Katniss

My heart aches as I see Gale go away so soon – I wish I could just talk to him for hours. I'm also sad to see Duke take off so quick – I want to talk to him some time. But I have seven thousand seven hundred other people to worry about.

Stephen is diplomatic but firm enough that we don't have many people fighting as he gets the kids and the old people and the disabled. Some of the little kids want him to put them in the hovercraft, and he does. They hold tight to him and some of them want to touch the star on his chest. They trust him – it's easy to trust Stephen. I try to help them on or carry them on gently but quickly – Johanna doesn't seem too worried about that. She just kind of throws the kids in their seats and snaps their seatbelt on.

Finnick comes back carrying an old lady – he helps us put her in the hovercraft. "How are we looking?" he asks.

"Well we already sent three hovercrafts to safety – I think that's a good start," I say. "I got word from Howard Stark they're holding back the bombers for the moment, so that's also good news but we need to go."  
"Agreed." He heads back and, like Thresh, comes back with a few more people who have to be carried.

We load up all the hovercrafts – each time we fill one, we send it off – while everyone else gathers at the fence. The first time I see Peeta, I don't know exactly what to say. "Katniss!" he yells happily and hugs me tight.

"Peeta," I say, immensely glad to see him safe and whole and not raped. "I was so worried … especially after I watched the other victors' stories …"

"Where'd you see that?" he asks, and I wish I had time to explain. It suddenly occurs to me I need to tell him to go get his mother and I'm so glad it does – she's a hateful piece of work, but no one deserves to die like that.

"Peeta – when they extracted your family your mother tried to raise the alarm. The agents had to gag her and tie her in the basement – it must have been the basement at the bakery because your dad wasn't worried because Keith would find her in the morning …"  
"Yes – he brings it to us there … I've got to go get her … damn, she's going to be mad …"

"Leave the gag in," I suggest, and feel like a bad person for saying it until he laughs. He hurries off to retrieve his mother and I think, well, at least I did that right.

It's the last hovercraft. We're picking out forty-eight people – by now Finnick and Thresh have brought everyone down that needs it and all the houses have been double-checked. Because only so many people can load the hovercrafts, Haymitch, Finnick, and Peeta are loading the people we're not going to get on the hovercrafts onto the trucks. We should have everyone here at the fence or on board. Stephen starts to bring me another kid but I say, "No, Stephen – the last two spots are for you and Thresh."  
"I'm not leaving you!" he protests.

"You're wounded – you're not going to be able to hike for days on end," I say quickly.

"I probably can do more than some of these people," he says, but he's very pale in the face and his bandages have come undone – he's bleeding again and a tiny but steady stream of red drips down his side and leg to the ground.

"Yeah but unlike you, they're not strapping teenage boys. We can carry them if we have to," I say. "Take the last seat, Stephen – you've done more than anyone can ask already."

"Well technically it's the next-to-last seat … Thresh isn't onboard yet."  
"I'll race you," Thresh says cheerfully, and hobbles onto the hovercraft – by now he's bleeding too. Stephen takes one last look at the people of District 12 – gathered on both sides of the destroyed fence – and climbs on board. I don't have time to watch it take off – I'm immediately helping the others load the trucks and the Peacekeeper jeep. We finally get everyone in Coulson's main categories and start loading some others – young kids who could be carried but would be a burden, older people who are still in relatively good shape and could make the walk but not very quickly, and some barely pregnant ladies who could walk but might lose the babies if they strain themselves too much. Not all of them, by any means, but some.

I notice we're being followed by the little floating cameras and roll my eyes. Oh well – at least they can get footage of us doing something right (hopefully).

We line everyone up and arrange the trucks and the jeep so they're spaced out pretty evenly among the walkers – my thought is the headlights will give us some light when night falls again – by now the sun is coming up. My ear piece crackles, and once again I hear Howard's voice brining news. "Katniss – some of the hovercrafts have made it to us safely and once they refuel they'll head back to you. I'll let you know when they're by you." He sounds exhausted and worried – I don't blame him.

"All right."

"Give picking out the people to go on the hovercrafts to someone else – you just worry about keeping everyone moving." Right. I know the person. I call out for Peeta – and he joins me. I explain the situation. He nods. "Stay by me when you can so I can tell you when I hear him."

"Good idea. I'll be back." He disappears to talk to several people along the line. I take the megaphone that was in the box – now everything is gone from it and we just ditch it. I give it to Haymitch – he's following up at the rear, and he'll know our status better than me at the front.

"Call to me if you think we need to stop or slow down," I tell him. He nods. For the first time, I get a look at his secret weapon – a large square-faced hammer. There's already dried blood on it and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

I follow the trails I know so well I don't have to look for Gale's marks – I do every now and then, just to make sure we took the same path. The pace is terribly slow, and Haymitch still calls to me that we have to slow down – he's so far away I can barely hear him even with the megaphone. "Howard – how far away do we need to be from District 12 to be safe?"

"Honey – if you think the Capitol can't see you guys and won't follow, you're sadly mistaken." He's never called me a pet name like that before. "My only suggestion is to move as fast as you can and hope that our forces hold the bombers long enough for you to get deep enough into the woods that they have to look for you." That's not what I wanted to hear. "On a more positive note – the first rescue hovercraft is coming in to the east of you." This last bit, I repeat to Peeta. He whistles, and the whistle is carried on by people down the line all the way to the back, and that's apparently a signal for certain people. I see a woman pick a little kid from the jeep and head into the east – the spot is immediately filled by a worried mother setting down her three-year-old in his place. Peeta disappears again, I guess to pick out the next lucky twenty-five. Actually, I'm guessing he picks twelve random people and tells most of them to take one kid and a few to take two.

We walk on for hours on end, with two more hovercraft visits, before Haymitch finally calls a stop – I'm grateful because I've been up for almost twenty-four hours at this point. As soon as we stop, my ear piece crackles with Howard's voice.

"Katniss– I'm being temporarily relieved of duty. Someone else is taking over for me for a few hours." Of course – he needs to sleep. And so do I – but I stand and look over the refugees who are counting on me and, even though I'm exhausted, I don't want to sleep in case I sleep too long and get them killed through my idiocy. "Go ahead and sleep, I'll wake you," Peeta tells me, as though he read my mind. It's only for forty-five minutes but it helps.

The day gets hot and horrible and we have to slow down even more – people are miserable and thirsty and tired. More and more people are being carried. We're not even a quarter of the way there, I don't think. I want to just put my head in my hands and cry and give up, but if they see me do that they're going to panic and scatter – and while we'd be a less obvious target for bombing that way a lot of these people are already almost starving as it is and they'll die in the woods. I wonder how Gale and his group are doing and wonder if the four hundred taken by the hovercrafts so far are going to be the only survivors of District 12. I want to know if Tony is okay – I know he'll be even more reckless than usual in his grief and that fuels my urgency too. I want to get us to safety so he and Danvers and the other pilots can beat a tactical retreat.

Night falls. I use my goggles to see Gale's marks, even though I could probably make my way even in the dark without them. We're moving so slowly there's no need for everyone to hold hands like in the first group – besides the headlights light the way for quite a few people.

One of the trucks runs out of gas – it's devastating when so many people are having trouble as it is, but we have no choice but to abandon it. My hope is the hovercrafts will get enough of the non-walkers that we can start having our able-bodied people take turns in them, but of course that's way too optimistic. I mention that to Peeta. "Better to let the seats go empty – the gas will last longer that way." He's right.

Not two hours later, a tire on one of the other trucks blows. If we lose another truck we'll be in serious danger of having to abandon people, as the number of people who are strong enough to carry someone as well as walk is shrinking very rapidly as we get dehydrated and exhausted.

The next hovercraft drops off water before it picks people up – but there's not enough for everyone. There's fighting over it, of course, but it's all broken up pretty quickly. That begins to happen every time hovercrafts come by – they drop food too. It's a life saver – probably literally.

Finally, after three days, I run out of the woods I know. I hope that means we're close.

The trail marked by Gale is rough and leads us over some very difficult terrain – we almost lose another truck but thankfully we get it unstuck just before we abandon it.

Unfortunately, that's when Howard (back on duty after his second mandated rest) warns me about the enemy hovercraft that slipped the rebel barricade, dropped a few bombs on District 12, figured out we weren't there, and started searching the woods. It's heading our way. That it's been this long is a blessing. "Peeta, do you have a code for, 'We need to run like our lives depend on it because they do?' "

"No but I think they'll get the message if you move faster," Peeta says nervously. I do – I start to jog and I know it's way too fast but hopefully such a dramatic increase in speed will be enough of a warning to Haymitch. I know it's hopeless – every mile we cross on foot, the hovercraft can cross twenty times as fast. But I want to delay the moment the bombs drop and everyone scatters and hope dies for as long as possible – especially since I have a vague hope that District 13 is just over every next hill.

I'm very sorry I didn't get to see Prim one more time.


	33. Fight Back (Haymich)

Chapter 33

Fight Back

Haymitch

I think they expect us to just die like sheep at the slaughter, or little rabbits running desperately – they don't expect us to fight back.

The bomber pilot is probably real surprised when Thor's hammer goes flying through his engine and tearing out through his ceiling. I brace myself and catch it – or is it a her or him or something? I feel bad calling it an it – as it flies back to my hand. The people at the end of the line, including Finnick and the little girl's he's been carrying the whole way, stare for a while as the hovercraft crashes and explodes. I hope the pilot bailed out before that happened – and that he's not stupid enough to come after us on foot and necessitate me killing him. The explosion rocks our ribcages and rings in our ears, and now I'm afraid we set the whole forest on fire. "It's not gonna be the only one, don't fall behind," I tell them harshly, and everyone hurries to close the gap that formed in the line in the brief moment we stopped. "That hovercraft is down, we can slow down a bit before we lose people," I call forward to Katniss. I know she's probably as stunned as everyone else, but I know she'll keep us going.

I'm real glad I thought to grab some liquor off the train – otherwise I'd be in kind of bad shape right now.

Katniss comes running to the back of the line with two men. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Phillip's back," she says breathlessly, and I see the men are Gale and Duke. "I'm going to stay back here in case more come." I know she's got arrows that can do all kinds of crazy stuff and Duke seems to think the gun he's got will do something, and Gale's going to go wherever Katniss goes, so I agree they're good to stay back here.

"Hopefully that one didn't have time to radio the …" I start.  
"Howard says the fleet's changing course like they know where we are." Great – just what we need.

Gaps in the line start to open and I hate to do it but I call for a rest. "Phillip says he's got a timer and he can call to wake everyone up – he brought the megaphone back with him," Katniss says quickly. I sleep for the first time in over two days – I've been taking turns keeping watch during the rests with Finnick and Johanna. Even now I'm not sure I want to sleep – but I'm sure Howard will give us plenty of warning. "Wake me if Howard calls with news," I tell Katniss as I close my eyes.

Katniss shakes me awake all too soon – Coulson has some very specific amount of time he lets us sleep. I guess it's the time of one sleep cycle or something.

We head on at a terribly slow pace – I know the hovercrafts are coming and the rebels have been battling for over twenty-four hours. They can only hold out for so long.

A few hours later, the next one comes. Katniss turns around and notches an arrow, warned by the man on the other end of the radio. I take aim but Katniss fires an arrow as soon as it's in sight, way off on the horizon. The arrow somehow burns itself into the hull of the ship and then detonates – sending the hovercraft tumbling to the ground. Another explosion, closer this time. I'm concerned about the flames but we've got a better chance of outrunning the flames than a moving hovercraft. Duke whistles. "Hawkeye better watch his title," he says softly.

"Hawkeye?" Katniss asks.

"It's … It was Clint's show name in the circus, once he got too old to be Tiny, because he was so good at throwing knives. And of course we knew how good he was at getting coyotes and foxes."

"Hawkeye …" she says slowly, and I see her turning the name over on her tongue. I find a minute to feel bad for Peeta, but then Katniss notches another arrow and I know it's starting now.


	34. Retreat (Danvers)

Chapter 34

Retreat

Danvers

You can't go on for forever – they've called us back in shifts for quick rests, and I pop amphetamines in between to stay awake. There's minor damage on my plane, from lucky shots and ramming. We've downed as many hovercrafts as we can but the ones left and the reinforcements are changing course – they know where the refugees are.

I hear Stark's voice over the radio. "Danvers, what's your condition?"  
"I'm fine for now," I say.

"How many pills have you taken?"

"Six so far." Actually ten but I don't want them to know that. I circle around to avoid a missile and open fire on another hovercraft. Reinforcements from base in the form of hovercrafts have arrived, but it's not enough. This is the first major battle of the rebellion, and neither side wants to go down easy so it's gone on for days now – we're hideously outnumbered but we have an edge in technology. The hovercrafts and planes are designed to self-destruct if we go down to keep that. It's been tested quite a few times – we've lost dozens of pilots and craft.

The radio crackles again. "Howard I said I'm fine," I say shortly – I don't have concentration to spare.

"This is General Fury." It's very serious then. "I'm ordering you and all the other pilots to retreat." That's it then.

"Copy," I say.

"No!" Tony protests – they opened a line directly to him too.

"Do it now, Stark – I've chewed your ass for disobeying orders once already." The line closes and I don't know if he went to another line to keep arguing or decided to just shut up and follow orders for once.

We take evasive maneuvers – they're going to try to follow us. Thankfully no one's invisible paneling has gone out – it makes it easier.

My heart sinks as we do – I know we've probably just condemned most of District 12 to death, and we're conceding the first battle of the rebellion. It's not a good start.

When we're a safe distance, Tony radios that he's under me. I press the button to let him in and he lands safely in the back of the plane. I close it up and risk taking a look at him. His armor's dented and scratched all to hell and when he starts to take it off I see he's so bruised and scraped underneath he's almost unrecognizable. He looks even worse than at the last break we took. "How far did they get?" he asks.

"Phillip's group made it to District 13, Katniss's group is about twenty-five miles out."  
"That's not bad," he says, thinking of a healthy person that could make that in a matter of a couple of hours, not a whole group of people starving, dehydrated, and already run ragged.  
"They're going way too slow to make it to District 13 before the hovercrafts at this rate," I say.

"Take me to them," he says confidently.

"Tony you're wounded …"  
"It's just bruises and stuff. Take me to them. I've got a little fight left in me." I double check my power reserves – I have more than enough for the detour. And maybe a little more fighting.

"Howard … Tell Fury we're going on a detour to try to cover District 12 refugees."

"We … as in you and Tony … Carol he's exhausted and hurt …"  
"Trust your son, Howard."

"Fine. I'll tell Katniss and Phillip." But he doesn't sound happy – not that I blame him.

I turn the plane to head for District 13.


	35. So Close and Yet So Far (Katniss)

Chapter 35

So Close and Yet So Far

Katniss

They're coming faster and more frequently now – even with Danvers and Tony helping us hold them off, I'm starting to get nervous. "How close are we, Phillip?" I ask in my earpiece.

"Twelve miles," he says, and he says it evenly but I feel defeated when he tells me that. We're close, but not nearly close enough. We're going as fast as we possibly can, but if we're really, really lucky we're covering two miles an hour, and I have a feeling we don't have six hours before they arrive in force. "Gale," I say, turning to my best friend. "Go tell the trucks as you pass – they need to go on ahead. At least we can get the children to safety."

"No, I already left you once …"  
"Damn it Gale, just do it," I say sharply. "This isn't about me or you or any one person – we've got a hundred people in those trucks and they shouldn't just wait here with the other sitting ducks." He nods and leaves, but he looks furious with me. "If you have time you can bring them back," I call to him as a peace offering – and as soon as I say it I'm sorry no one thought of it the minute he and Phillip came back. They could have gone and been back by now – they probably even have fuel for them at District 13.

I only have four explosive arrows left, so I save them for when things get really bad and let the others have most of the fun.

Phillip calls out every mile – it only reminds me how slowly we're going. If it was daylight I'd tell everyone to run – they could see Gale's markers and at least some of them might make it to District 13. But it's dark and they don't have the goggles – I gave mine to Haymitch so he can see the craft coming from a long ways off.

Suddenly Haymitch curses and takes off his goggles and hands them to me. "Katniss go – I'm going to hold my ground and try to remember how I made the lightning," he says. I have no idea what he's talking about but slide the goggles on and almost get sick as I see what's coming – a wall of hovercrafts.

"Come on everyone," I say, picking up a straggling young teenage boy. He's heavy but I can carry him well enough. I feel his ribs against my chest and his shoulder blades and spine against my arms. He was probably already on the edge of starvation and this trip has nearly killed him. I catch myself thinking maybe the bombing will be merciful compared to starving to death. "Let's pick up the pace!"  
"Katniss – what is it?" Finnick asks me worriedly. He's been carrying the same little girl since we set out – I wonder where her parents are.

"A whole lot of hovercrafts," I answer very softly.

Gale still hasn't come back even though he's surely had enough time to get there and back by now – it worries me a little.

I see a brilliant light and whirl to see lightning light up the sky and take down a couple dozen hovercraft – the thunder and a little bit of rain follows shortly afterwards. I know then that his hammer is the one from the stories Gale tells Posey – I was too worried about eight thousand other things to connect the dots before – and I'm incredibly grateful to Thor, wherever he is, for lending us his hammer, even while I'm wondering why he's not here himself. I look up to the sky and drink in the falling rain – it soothes my parched throat even though it's not nearly enough.

Not long after, a terrible sound rends the air – a long, high-pitched wail. It sounds mechanical but something about it claws at your brain and I feel like I should know what it sounds like but I don't.

"Katniss you're going to want to turn everyone north …" Howard starts  
"No!" Phillip's voice breaks in. He's never interrupted before, and I wonder if he's heard all my conversations with Howard. "I convinced her once, I'll do it again."  
"Phillip …"  
"They're here, Howard, there's no more time. I'll get her to open the doors." I don't know who she is, but I hope Phillip's right.


	36. Shelter (Coulson)

Chapter 36

Shelter

Coulson

This time, I don't have time to step aside. I just have to keep my voice down and hope that the people nearest me don't panic. I tune my radio once again – I desperately request a conference, hoping against hope that she hasn't gone down to the shelter herself yet. Much to my relief, I hear her voice. "What do you want, Lieutenant?"  
"Please, don't close the doors yet …"

"The deal was to hold them open until the sirens were triggered. They have been."

"Listen closely," I say, done with the pretense of respect and deference. "Do you think the Capitol doesn't know where we're going? They probably already got surveillance footage of you taking in the first three hundred, or the one hundred in the trucks. They won't be able to ignore you anymore. They're going to spin it one way or another – do you want them to show footage of these people dying on your front door and call you out for the heartless coward you are or do you want them to have to try to spin your saving them?"

"I can't risk a direct hit to the shelter with the doors open." That's incredibly unlikely – even most of the upper structure will probably survive.  
"Then don't. Just keep it open until the bombers are in your skies – I assume you already had everyone or almost everyone down there before the sirens even went off. It won't take hours to close the doors, and I know we have a second siren rigged to let you know when they're closer."

"We do."  
"If nothing else, leave the outer doors open – the increase in risk to the shelters from doing so is marginal, and we'll be safer in there than out in the open."

"I agree to both conditions, Lieutenant. But I expect more decorum in the future …"  
"Take it up with Fury," I say abruptly and tune my feed back to Howard. I turn to the mother behind me, about to fall over with exhaustion, and lift her four-year-old son onto my back. She's so scared by what she overheard she lets me take him without making a peep. I take a few steps back and find a little girl in her father's arms – I take her from him, also without a peep.

"Howard, please tell Katniss to come to the front. I'm taking as many as I can now." Then I take my megaphone, and I announce as much to the group at large. I tell whoever can keep up with me to do it – we're very close and I have hopes I can get them to District 13 ahead of the bombers.

I run as fast as I can – which at this point is not very fast at all, considering how exhausted I am and I have one kid in my arms and another on my back. But it's still too fast and I know I'll start losing people – I've got to count on Katniss to get them and hope for a miracle. "Are we going to be okay mister?" the little girl in my arms asks.

"If I can help it, yes," I tell her, and almost immediately regret wasting breath on speaking.

I used to hold President Coin in the highest regard – she was elected when I was just a little boy, before I even tried to get my miracle. She's the only leader I remember. I never questioned her when I was a kid. I even thought that if she didn't want me to join Fury's forces, then it wasn't meant to be. But Fury fought for me – my time in the brig said almost the exact opposite thing to him than it did to her. It said I was a good kid, but I would go against orders when I needed to protect someone I loved.

Fury's headquarters were a long, long way from District 13 – and not just because it was in the wilds hundreds of miles away at the time. I watched as at least half the men and women I came to headquarters with lost their minds with the little measure of freedom they were given – stocking up on the small amount of alcohol we were given in our rations to get drunk, having usually unprotected sex like rabbits in any room that had a soft surface (and even those that didn't), staying up all night, and pulling stupid dangerous stunts in training. It was disorienting for me too at first – I felt lost and confused the first time I had more than a few minutes of free time. I decided to fill up the time by watching the tapes of the previous Hunger Games – to see what we were fighting against and what I'd been afraid of all my life. The only time I ever got drunk was the fourth night I'd spent watching children murder each other. While I was hungover the next morning, I vowed I was going to stop it, even if I had to lay down my life for it. Danvers is the only one who heard me say it – she drank more than me but wasn't nearly as smashed.

This wasn't what I had in mind when I made that vow, but it's the same end – saving people from the Capitol. I'll come back as many times as I can before the sirens go off and I'm going to be holed up in the upper structure right along with them.

I'm sweating and every muscle aches when I catch sight of the district where I was born. I lead on, sprinting across the valley, the opposite of the way I went when I was searching for my miracle. The kids in my arms are like lead weights but I don't set them down.

I cross the threshold one more time. I know the way to the bomb shelter by heart – we drilled for it constantly. I make my way through halls and down stairways to the big, heavy multi-layered doors and the deep staircase. There's two guards at the door, waiting for the second siren.

"Stay back ten feet," they tell the people behind me. "Two at a time." They nod me through and I step up to the top of the stairs. "Can you walk the rest of the way?" I ask the little girl and boy as I set them down. The boy nods and begins to make his way down, slowly but surely. He doesn't have to hurry anymore – once the doors close he'll be safe. The people behind me hurry around me and down the stairs to safety as quickly as the guards nod them through. "Where's my Mommy?" the little girl asks, clinging to my hip.

"She's coming," I tell her, even though I don't know. "She'll be with you before you know it – you just need to get down to safety to get some food and water." She nods and I realize she'd be crying if her body had water to spare on the tears. "You need to go now, sweetie, I'm going to go find your mommy," I say, and she finally lets go and heads down the stairs.

"Where's the trucks?" I ask the guards. They look at me blankly. "Where are the trucks Gale brought the kids in?"

"We parked most of them on the northern side – we brought four of them and the jeep into the ruins in hopes they'd survive the bombing …"

"Thank you," I say brusquely and take the quickest way out to the trucks. I can take one of them and load up some more people.

I pass the little girl's mother in the valley and tell her that her daughter is waiting on her. I'm relieved that she really is on the way – I'm sure we've separated a lot of families as it is. Finnick and Johanna pass me – Johanna's carrying an old man on her back and Finnick has a little girl in his arms. I'm glad to see them run past, and I hope they stay but I think I know better.

The sky is alive with lightning – there's hardly any rain, and besides there was no storm in the area. I know this is coming from Haymitch and his hammer. For once I don't hate magic.

Some of the bombers have gotten around Haymitch and the others – there's fire all around, and some of the people have scattered. We're not going to have time to look for them and I know they're lost unless they get themselves to the outer structure …. And even then they might be gone by morning. As soon as I stop the truck, people are piling in and throwing relatives on. I have to threaten people with a gun to get them back once the truck is as full as it can stand – people are fighting over the spots left and it's going to get ugly.

I drive back as fast as I can – I hope everyone's holding on tight. It's probably a matter of minutes before the second siren goes off and the guards shut the doors, and every single person who gets beyond those doors is going to be safe and will be among the survivors of District 12.

I unload everyone on the threshold – by now the people I led on foot are all inside and I have to show the new arrivals the way, a move which costs me valuable time.

And so on and so forth, I do it until the truck is in danger of running out of fuel, and then get another one since there's no time to worry about refueling. It gets worse with every trip – the flames are thicker and I hear the bombs dropping. I don't go to the back – I get swarmed by people as soon as I get in sight – so I don't see how many bombs have actually hit the train of fleeing refugees. The line is now scattered and there's huge gaps – the healthy are running further ahead and the old and sickly are falling behind. I know there's very little chance they'll get into the shelter – but I know where to keep them relatively safe in the upper structure.

The second sirens go off, and I know it's over for getting to the shelter. But I still need to get everyone to District 13 as quickly as possible, and in the safest space – there's no time to panic.

I take the group from my truck to the lowest cafeteria – it's on the lowest floor low and large and it was meant to be a secondary shelter for anyone who couldn't get into the main shelter. I tell them to duck and cover along the side – this room can hold two thousand people. I don't know where I'll put everyone else.

Not long after, the refugees start pouring in.

Over the next few hours, I find places for everyone to be (hopefully) relatively safe while the bombs fall on and around the building. The bombs rattle my chest and my skull, and I can feel the heat from the fires burning outside every time I go to the doors to usher people in. I also feel the thunder from Haymitch's lightning deep in my bones – he's still taking down hovercrafts left and right.

I see Duke – he's figured out his gun isn't doing any good and brought me an old man, wounded by a bomb blast. I take him to an anti-aircraft gun – this one will actually help.

I see Peeta, carrying a woman I assume is his mother. They're both burned and wounded, but they're alive for now. I take him, with a group of others, to one of the classrooms where I spent my days as a student.

Finnick and Johanna had gone back of course – they come back with an old woman and a little boy, respectively. "You can open your eyes now," Johanna tells the little boy when they're in another classroom – I imagine her carrying him over scorch marks and piles of body parts and I hope he listened and kept his eyes closed.

The stream of refugees is slowing now – I'll know when I see Katniss that all the ones who are coming are coming.

Finally, I see Katniss – carrying a boy way too heavy for her and now out of arrows – and I know that, after almost six days, our ordeal is almost over. I almost break down then. But I think of someone else. "Howard – tell Carol to take off and Tony to get in here – Haymitch won't come in until they do, if then." I call Duke down to the doors – he doesn't need to be told twice. He sprints to the doors and ducks in, then waits for me to tell him where to go. I grab Katniss's hand and practically pull her to the classroom where I put Peeta and his mother – she's clearly horrified by what she sees. I'm hoping she's picked up at least a little of her mother's trade. She kneels by Peeta's mother, and I hope that's a good sign. Maybe she has some training from her mother.

With that, I finally find a place for myself. And Duke. I know Tony or Haymitch will shut the doors behind them when they come in.

I only realize as I lay down in the brig that I'm burned – the air was so hot it burned my throat and lungs. Duke's got the same problem and his hands are burnt by the metal of the gun. I apologize for not thinking about that and find the nearest first-aid kit – they're all over the place around here. I start to bandage his hands and I wish we had water to drink. "Coulson – we lost so many … there was blood and body parts everywhere …" he's shaking very hard, and I know it's not just from his injuries. I have to keep calm for him too – he doesn't need to see anyone else break down.

"Just think about the people you helped save," I say quickly. "The ones who aren't body parts and ash – the ones who are safe in the shelter or who have a real good chance up here."

"How likely is this structure to survive?"  
"Very likely. It's designed to minimize the risk of a chain reaction collapse – the upper levels will be destroyed but we should be safe here." Should be – if they get lucky with a bunker buster a lot of people will die. "We just move people into the shelters to be sure … and because just the vibrations from the bombing can trigger heart attacks in people with certain conditions and aneurysms to burst." Some of the elderly people will certainly die from such. "We're at low risk here. Try to sleep." I know that's not likely when there are bombs falling every few seconds, and we feel them shake the whole structure, but it's worth a shot.

"Phillip?" Danvers … Carol … calls to me from the door. Somehow, I'm not surprised she knew where I was going to go to hide.

"I'm here," I croak back, my throat more and more sore by the minute. She sits by me, and puts my head in her lap. She's all bruised and cut up. She has water – the pilots take several bottles on missions, and she must have saved one for the shelter. She pours some into my mouth and I could kiss her for it. She gives some to Duke and goes back and forth between us until the water's all gone. I'm pretty sure she gives me more, but Duke's not complaining. She explains that Haymitch covered her and Tony while she crash-landed and Tony came inside – one of the Capitol pilots was finally smart enough to manage to hit her just before I told Howard to give the order, and thanks to Haymitch she was able to sprint inside while the plane self-destructed. She says he finally came in after her and he's dead exhausted – he asked where the alcohol was and then passed out.

"Did he close the doors?" I ask.

"Yes – yes he did. I took him to the room where Katniss and Peeta and the others are waiting – I had to put my hands around his hands to move the hammer. You can stop worrying about things, Phillip … It's all taken care of." I didn't have time to count while I was showing people to different parts of the shelter … but I know from the spots we filled that we got less than three thousand … if I'm generous in my estimate of the people taken by hovercrafts and the people we got into the bomb shelter, we got four thousand people – only half of District 12's population – and many more up here will die from their injuries or the vibrations of the structure, assuming the best. I try to focus on the half that are alive, but all I think about is the half we failed and the part of the "rescued" half that's still going to die – I turn my head and keep my tears silent so Duke won't see me break down, since he's so fragile right now as it is.

"Phillip – we saved at least three thousand people," Carol says softly. "Which is three thousand more than would have survived without us." I know she's right and I force myself to focus on it, calming myself. There will be time for mourning later.

We sit like that for a long time. "It's safer to lay down," I say, and she does. She lies next to me and takes my hand. I hold her hand tight. "How long can this go on?" Duke asks, his voice hoarse and cracking from the burns and the thirst.

"It depends on how many resources the Capitol wants to waste – theoretically it could go on for days," I say, knowing that means almost everyone in the upper structure will die from dehydration. "More likely, considering the battle that they've had – a few hours." My only hope for the rebellion as a whole is that the Capitol's losses are heavy enough they'll have to take some time to lick their wounds – and we'll be ready for the next step before they are – that this was a Pyrrhic victory for them. But for once I can barely think about the future – I think about surviving the next few hours.

The next thing I know, I'm being woken by Howard's voice, telling me he's trying to have a medic look at me, but they're setting up a triage and of course there are a lot of people much worse off than me. Somehow, I fell asleep. Duke was apparently awake the whole time – he's sitting up and staring. I hope he'll be okay – his brother's going to need him.

**Author's Note**

Pyrrhic victory: /Main/PyrrhicVictory

I upped the survival rate pretty dramatically because otherwise the Avengers and Fury would suck at their jobs – if Gale can save eight hundred people leading them blindly into the woods by himself with no warning, having a lot more help and advance warning should significantly decrease the body count.

I really wanted to do a cross-gender friendship that was really platonic but it's sort of coming across as sexual tension. So if you like it … crack pairings ftw! And if you don't like it I'm sorry that wasn't my intent.


	37. Survivors (Katniss)

Chapter 37

Survivors

Katniss

I wish my mother were here – she would know what to do for the wounded. I crawl to Peeta's mother and do the best I can – I tear off some cloth from the hem of her dress and use that to try to clean the wounds and apply pressure. She's unconscious but breathing – I hope that lasts the night. Peeta's sitting in the corner of the room, shaking from his own wounds.

We wait for hours, with the bombs dropping every few minutes at first and then several a minute as time goes on. The bombs rattle the whole structure ominously, but I'm hoping it stays intact. Once I've done everything I can for Peeta's mother, I crawl to him and try to help him. "Oh Peeta," I say softly, worried. I do my best once again but there's nothing I can give him for the pain or the possible infection, and I don't have anything to soothe the burns or the shrapnel cuts.

"I saw Clint," he says when things get quiet for a very brief moment. I try not to react – I don't want him to have hurt feelings on top of everything. "He looked pretty bad but I think he's going to be okay. He wanted to know about you and the others …"

"What did you tell him?"  
"Just that you and most of the others were okay – we gave him the bad news about Rue. He took it pretty hard." Of course he would – if you don't count the days I was unconscious he was with her for longer than I was. He clears his throat and speaks again. "Katniss … when I said what I said in my interview … it was just an angle for the Games." I should be angry that he lied to everyone and used me – but it's a weight off my chest to think it really was just an act for both of us. "I thought it would help me win or help you if I was killed. I care for you, but … not like that." I nod because I don't know what else to do.

"You just … Just focus on getting through this," I say lamely.

"I want to be closer to my mother," he says, and I help him go to her.

At some point a few hours in, she just stops breathing. Peeta starts to cry – of course he does. She was his mother, no matter how she was to him. I hold him close and remind him his father and brothers are okay – but every bomb that drops makes me wonder if he'll see them again, if I'll see my sister again. I wonder how many bombs the upper levels can take before they collapse.

Finally, the bombs stop. We wait for several hours, afraid to move, but then we hear footsteps and I cautiously get to my feet. I stick my head out of the classroom and find a plainly dressed medic. He kneels by Peeta's mother for all too short a time, then shakes his head and moves on to Peeta.

Gale follows shortly after. I practically jump to my feet to greet him. "Katniss I'm so sorry – I carried some of them down to the shelter and they wouldn't let me come back."

"It's okay," I say honestly, just so glad he's safe. "I knew it was something like that …"  
"How many did we lose?" he asks.

"Gale I don't know … I don't know … people scattered and I don't know how many people made it in …" I shudder when I think about the _people _we had to walk through … blood and pieces and ashes …

Gale sees me finally break down and he catches me – he wraps his arms around me and I sob into his shirt for just a moment before I get it together. "What can I do to help?" I ask.

"You've done enough, Catnip," he teases softly. He sits with me on the floor, and I rest my head on his shoulder and listen as the medics tell Peeta he's going to be fine.

I finally sleep.

**Author's Note**

This was also very hard to write from a shipping standpoint because I'm very much a Toast (Everlark) shipper, but the crossover shipping muses must be appeased – and also Peeta is totally the kind to make this kind of sacrificial "I just want my beloved to be happy" move (spoilers I guess but you probably already guessed that's what's going on).


	38. Stalemate (Schmidt)

Chapter 38

Stalemate

General Schmidt

The firebombing did not go as well as we had hoped. This rebellion has more teeth than we thought – their airplanes offered significant resistance, and any hope we could discover the secret of how they've managed to power them was lost when the downed pilot's plane self-destructed. It will be months before we can mount another full battle.

We had a similar bit of bad luck with Ms. Montgomery's suit – we had hoped to discover the secret to the all but invisible paneling the rebels seem to have invented or acquired, but the moment we attempted to remove the suit, all the wires lit at once and damaged it well beyond studying. The self-destruct also left burns on the body – we considered returning the whole body, considering the state it is in, between the burns and the decay, but the President feels just her head will make a stronger impression, especially on young Mr. Stark, given how he fought to get to her. He has a point.

Worst of all, Haymitch Abernathy is somehow not only able to lift Mjolnor, but to wield it against us. He single-handedly did more damage than any one of the rebels' planes and bought the refugees almost twelve hours. I shudder to think of such a powerful weapon and valuable artifact in the hands of a cultureless buffoon from District 12.

And the rebels have Banner. I'm sure they will put him to much the same use that we intended.

All of that is the bad news – but if the rebels think they have an edge now, they're mistaken. We will soon be administering the treatment to Mr. Blonski, and unlike Mr. Banner, he is an experienced warrior and in much better baseline condition. We still outnumber them, and brute force will eventually trump their innovations.

They're also not the only ones with a god on their side – I see Mr. Abernathy being more than evenly matched before too long. The journey I am about to undertake is dangerous – we haven't had contact with Europe since the famines and we don't know if anyone is even left – but it will be worth it.

We estimate we've killed over four thousand of the residents of District 12 – not the eight thousand we were hoping for, but even so, I think we've sent our message loud and clear.

And then, of course, the gift we've been given with Drusa's escape cannot be overstated. She does not appear to have much practical knowledge, but she freely divulged what little she did know and there's little question in my mind of her loyalty. We're delaying her interview, giving her time to "recover." Stylists will actually do quite the opposite – they'll add a few bruises and perhaps an artful scar or two, and hollow her cheeks with make-up. I'm sure she'll look very noble and stoic and disheveled in a picturesque way. Maybe her glorification will help offset the blow to District 2 that was the public execution of the Peacekeepers who fled. I still think the move was rash.

The screens go black and then come back with images from the rebels. Finnick Odair names some of his clients and Duke Barton and Johanna Mason get melodramatic about their dead family members – they haven't announced Clint's rescue yet – and Duke in particular acts as though someone held a gun to his head to get him to comply. At least Johanna can say she refused – she has a bit more dignity. They cut to another propaganda piece, clearly shot on the spot since the editing on it is so shoddy, of our young traitor Ms. Ross tearfully recounting the procedures we conducted on her lover and the marks she saw from his interrogation. She was always cautious in what she said, anticipating we had voice recorders everywhere, but apparently never thought we had a camera in that room too – probably because she was never chastised for the painkillers she took him, and too naïve to realize we let it go on because we didn't care who got him to talk or how as long as he did. The interview with Ms. Ross is followed by a hastily cut but probably very touching tribute to Shale Montgomery. They show a clip of her saying she wants to put an end to the Hunger Games and starvation in the District and cut it with footage of her and Anthony Stark cuddling and kissing like young lovers do – we were right to assume they were close – and footage of her attempt to save Stephen during her Games.

We quickly regain control of the televisions, cutting off what must be at least the thirtieth airing of little Rue's death – if I have to see it again I will throw something. I do not understand why the Districts have latched so readily onto this child in particular.

In three days, Drusa goes on the air – and we won't let the rebels interrupt as she paints a far less rosy picture for the Districts. If they're wise, they'll realize the rebels would be no more permissive, perhaps even less so, and it will be better for them to fall in line and spare themselves a rebellion that will cost more lives than it already has.

However, for the first time, I am not entirely certain that the rebellion will be ended quickly.


	39. Head Games (Coulson)

Chapter 39

Head Games

Coulson

Even as tired as I am, the knock on my door gets me out of bed immediately. I shake Carol by the shoulder, trying to wake her. She groans and rolls over, demanding I give her a few more minutes, as is her way and has been since we were teenagers.

I head to the door and open it just enough to see the person on the other side. It's Fury – of course it is – and I try to get away with getting out the door with it only open partway. "Tell Lieutenant Danvers she doesn't have anything to worry about right now," he says, and I feel my cheeks burning.

"Nothing happened we just …"  
"Firstly, I don't care what happens in off hours between two consenting officers of equal rank. Secondly, after the week you both had if I thought something happened, I'd tell Dr. Erskine to add your blood to his formula." I almost smile at that – but Fury isn't smiling and I know he wouldn't be getting me up unless there was something very serious afoot.

"I need you to run interference with Tony Stark – make sure he stays asleep for the next few hours, and if he doesn't, keep him distracted."  
"Why?" I ask with a sense of dread, but I already suspect the answer.

"While collecting remains and repairing structural damage, a volunteer from District 12 discovered a box attached to a parachute that was addressed to Tony. He immediately notified a guard and we sent a bomb squad to check it."  
"It wasn't a bomb," I say, already having a very good idea what it actually was.

"Stark is already quite … shaken." I bite my tongue – of course he is, he's barely a man and he's been sheltered all his life. For the other Avengers, loss is second nature – they've all lost at least one parent and fought for survival every day of their lives, and they had to give up everything – their dreams, their innocence, their safety – to keep the world together for their families. Tony's heart is in the right place and I have no doubt he felt Amp's death very deeply, but he's never known that kind of desperation. "I am not sure he would handle this well. We're going to make sure the remains we have are treated with the utmost respect – Shale deserves that – and we've already informed her father, but I don't see any need for Mr. Stark to know until it's well over and done with."

"The rebellion or once she's buried, sir?"  
"The rebellion, if possible – he'll be furious, but I need him sane." Well he won't have time to visit her grave until it's over anyway – all though doing so might give him some measure of comfort. And he absolutely would have a meltdown if he knew what the Capitol did, especially if he saw it.

"I'll do what I need to, sir," I say, thinking that I am in desperate need of a shave and a shower but I need to worry about Tony first – he already saw me looking like hell earlier and it's not like it will alarm him more.  
"You and Danvers been doing that since you were kids?" Fury asks with a knowing smile and I act flustered until I remember he's from the Districts.

"Always, sir."

"I thought as much." My father and I had lived in bachelor quarters ever since my mother passed away – he took her in when she was released from the infirmary, partially because I'd already made friends with her while I had guard duty in the infirmary and partially as an excuse to move back into family quarters. I thought it was my lucky day the first night when she crawled in bed with me – it didn't take long to figure out she had other ideas.

I head to Tony's quarters with all due haste. I knock on the door and Morgan answers. She looks exhausted and worried – not unexpected. "Were you here to inform Tony?" she asks, and my heart sinks.

"Inform him?"  
"I'm sure you wanted to tell him differently … but he listens to the radio all the time. He hadn't been awake long when he heard they were transporting … what the Capitol sent District 13." She shudders – she can't even bear to say it.

"How's he doing?" I ask, all though now I know the worry on her face isn't just residual worry from the last few days. She leads me in without another word, and I hear angry voices coming from Tony's room. It's Howard and Tony, and Tony's words are very slurred.

"You have to be strong, Tony …"  
"Get off my back, old man, don't pretend you didn't disappear into a bottle for most of my childhood." There's so much bitterness in his voice … maybe I was too hasty in assuming he's lived a sheltered life.

"Shale wouldn't want …"  
"Don't tell me what she wouldn't want, you didn't like her. And what does it matter now? She's dead. She doesn't want anything anymore." He can't even say her name. I come to the door and Morgan opens it for me. Tony's half-naked and there are four or five bottles lying around the floor – one of them is broken and he's bleeding but considering one of the bottles is a kind of liquor that's ninety percent alcohol I doubt he feels it. Howard's fighting with him over another bottle.

"Tony?" I ask him, and as soon as he sees me, he surprises me – something I didn't think he could do anymore. He lets go of the bottle and hands it to his dad, and then runs to me and throws himself against me, hugging me and sobbing. I hug him back stiffly – hugging is not my thing, but I'm not about to turn him loose. I don't tell him what I would have been told – I don't tell him to be strong. I just let him cry.

I get him sitting down and his mom takes care of the cut on his foot – I guess he kicked over one of the bottles. "Where's Katniss?" he asks.

"I'm not sure," I say quickly, thinking he's still angry with her for giving away their position.

"Did she decide which one of the guys rocks her world yet? Or not decide … I don't judge." I almost laugh – of course Tony's got sex on the brain, even now. I'd be shocked otherwise.  
"Tony, Clint's still in the hospital wing. I think she's got time."

"I want to see him. I never got to apologize for shocking him …"  
"You shocked Peeta too," I say quickly. I don't know what Clint's triggers might be if he was hijacked, and Tony would be a valuable target for the Capitol.

"He got to be victor for a year, he'll be fine," Tony insists, and he's standing up and looking for clothes now. I don't like this at all.

"Tony …"  
"I want to see how bad he looks – I want to see Spruce too. I want to know what happened to them." That's the last thing he needs in this state.

"No you don't, Tony …"  
"Do you have any idea how many pilots I killed? Yes I do!" Justification … I don't know if he'll find any, but maybe he will. But I want his introduction to both of them to be slow and cautious and in the presence of many guards. Actually, I want their reintroduction to all of the Avengers to be slow and cautious and in the presence of many guards, and I'll give orders to that effect as soon as I get Tony calmed down.

Tony apparently has other ideas. He takes off and I chase him like a harried nanny. "Tony – they may have been hijacked. We have no idea what their triggers are – they could flip out and try to kill you on sight."  
"I took Clint before."  
"With a weapon. And you don't know what Spruce is like when he's transformed – it would endanger the whole ship if you triggered him."

"I'll just go see Clint then."  
"If you're looking for justification, Tony, I can describe his injuries – I saw them myself." And I was chastised by some of the higher-ups for not letting him be photographed before I cleaned him up for full impact. "Hell, think of the four thousand three hundred seventy-two and climbing fatalities from the bombing of District 12, and how there would be more if you hadn't done what you did. I'll pull tapes from previous Hunger Games. You don't have to talk to Clint right at this moment." But by now he's got his mind set on it, and Tony minds me about as well as a spoiled toddler. I'm tempted to taser him and throw him in the brig to sober up, but instead I just follow, hoping I can head off any messy situation he's about to walk into.


	40. My Clint (Katniss)

Chapter 40

My Clint

Katniss

Prim was waiting for me when I got back to base – she was pacing around my bedroom, dressed in a uniform like what the medics wear. She'd grown a few inches since I saw her last. I ran to her and hugged her tight, and cried once again – tears of joy this time. I wanted to just sit and talk with her for hours – I wanted to know all about Lady and Buttercup and how much it hurt when she was plucked and scrubbed by the Capitol team, but she said she had to be back – she was helping the medics take care of some of the sick and injured who made it to base.

I almost didn't sleep – I wanted to see him right away. But Mom told me I should get some rest so I didn't freak him out with how bad I looked, and she had a point. So I slept for almost twenty-four hours and took a shower.

The guard at the door nods when he sees me and lets me into Clint's room. Duke's sitting by the bed – he smiles when he sees me. His hands are still all wrapped up and his lips are still blistered, just like mine. "I'm going to go get coffee," he says with a wink and a smirk and walks past me. I resist the urge to punch him in the arm.

Once Duke is gone, I get my first full view of Clint. I gasp when I see him – but I don't let him see how shocked I am. He's so thin a stiff breeze would probably blow him away. I've seen starved people all my life … but I've never seen Clint like that. He looks up and sees me and breaks out in a huge grin – that same smile I loved all along without knowing I loved it. A few teeth are missing – the guard who brought me down warned me of that – he got a few teeth kicked out by his captors and a few were so rotten their dentists had to take them. They'll have them replaced with fake ones later, and when he gets enough weight back they'll start using him for propos. They've already taken photos of how bad he looks now – I overheard Coulson getting his ear chewed for not getting pictures of him before cleaning him up when they first rescued him. I am starting to think the rebels aren't much better than the Capitol. "Katniss?" he asks, like it's the best word in the English language.

"Yeah, it's me," I say back and I go to his bedside and lean over to hug him tight. I can feel his bones through his skin and I stay down there a long time to hide my tears – and also because I just want to.

"I can tell you're crying Kat … niss." I pull back and wipe my tears away quickly.  
"I lied when I said that bothered me, you can call me Kat. You can call me Catnip. You can call me Snowball for all I care," I say.

"I like Kat," he says back with a smile. He's shirtless, and now that he's sitting up and I'm up close I can see burn scars and huge, raised scars on his back from being whipped, and I can't ask about them without crying again.

"I uh … I brought something for you," I say instead, trying to think of something else, and pull the tiny packet of peanut butter from my pocket. "They said I shouldn't give you much … that too much will make you sick … but I remembered how much you love peanut butter and they said this much is okay," I say and open it for him.

"Have you ever had any?"  
"I have. It is good," I say. "We hardly ever get it but when we do it's … it's very good." He nods and smiles. He squeezes it into his mouth and takes his time tasting it. "This is the best," he says through a mouthful of peanut butter. It's disgusting.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I answer sharply. He shrugs and plays with the peanut butter on his tongue for a bit longer before he finally swallows and rests back against the pillow. I take his right hand, and notice his left for the first time. I grab his left hand and pull it closer to mine to get a closer look.

"They did that to you?" I demand.

"One of the guards. They say they can make me good prosthetics and I'll be shooting again in no time," he says, and he tries to make it sound like it's no big deal but he starts to cry. I kiss the place where his middle and index finger were, and that makes him stop crying for a second.

"I thought you were dead," I say. "If I'd known you were alive … all this time …"

"I know," he cuts me off. "I thought about you every day. I'm just glad you're okay." Finnick, Duke, and Johanna's stories suddenly comes to mind, and I worry about something else that might have happened to him.

"Did they … I mean … you weren't … Johanna says …" I start.

"Weren't what?" he asks, bewildered.

"They didn't … Did they rape you?" I ask, not able to think of a delicate way to put it.

"No. Spruce and I were lucky in that," he says, and I'm so relieved, until he shudders. "It was the only thing the torturer disapproved of, so they only took the ones who were already broken and wouldn't fight back, so they wouldn't leave marks or have marks on them and he wouldn't find out. We fought too much for that … but we could hear it happen sometimes." Oh … "There was one guard … who always claimed he … you know how they said they shot down one of the hovercrafts?"  
"Well they kind of did – but Danvers was able to carry it back to base." I know he doesn't know who Danvers is or how impressive that really is, but before I can explain he speaks.

"He said you and Rue and Brandy and Stephen were all in that one – and he would talk about raping you and the little girls and then burning them alive and shooting you in the stomach and hanging Stephen after making him watch …" he's in hysterical tears just at the thought and I hug him once again.  
"It's okay … It's okay …" I reassure him. "I'm here. You can see me. I'll bring you Brandy and Stephen if you want … I'll show you what happened to Rue … she wasn't raped, she didn't even feel any pain …"

"It's okay … I know … I just … I'm just … I'm just so glad that's not what happened," he says through the tears. I stroke his now super-short hair comfortingly. Standing like this is awkward so I look over my shoulder at the guard and point at the bed with one hand, and he shrugs. "Move over," I say gently, and he does and I climb in the bed with him. I can feel his ribs against my skin and his heart beating against my chest. I know he feels my heartbeat too, and I hope it helps. I just want to reassure him I'm real and he's safe and I'm safe and everything is going to be okay. Someday.

"I was hoping I could get you in bed," he says flippantly, and I laugh in spite of myself.

"You smell good for someone who was held captive," I comment.

"Coulson threw me in the shower and turned on like three different scents to cover my smell at the first check point … it was unbearable for days," he answers, wrinkling his nose, and I laugh again. I go to kiss him on top of the head – and he looks straight up and pulls my face down so the kiss lands on his lips. His skin burns against mine, considering the burns I have, but I still like it. He puts his tongue out and my lips part automatically. I pull back, sit up, and smack him in the shoulder – it's so bony it probably hurts my hand worse than his shoulder. I'm not even sure why I'm mad.

"I'm sorry," he says sheepishly.

"Good, because you should be," I say angrily. But then I look down at him, and think of all the time I spent without him and waking up beside him in the Arena and the way he makes me laugh and how good both our kisses have felt and I grab him by the shoulders and lean down to kiss him one more time. I climb on top of him so it's a less awkward angle and I feel his fingers running up and down my back and through my hair. This time there's no cameras to think about … no Peeta to let down … no Gale or other family members watching … But there is a guard. He clears his throat and I remember we have a witness. I lift my head and roll off Clint, turning bright red. Clint looks very red as well – but then the guard winks and we both laugh and I rest my head on his shoulder. I know it'll be years before he's normal again – if ever – but he's still my Clint.

"What happened to your eye?" he asks, and I'm surprised he even notices the now almost healed bruise with all the things he's been through and considering the blistering is much worse.

"Oh that – courtesy of Tony Stark," I answer carelessly.

"Tony Stark?" he asks, and I feel his whole body tense up. I figure he still has a grudge against Tony – it took me a while to get over the times he shocked me and insinuated I was a slut too, but I'd think he'd have bigger issues with the torture and all.

"Yeah … it was my fault, I screwed up …"  
"What do you mean? No one deserves that," he says, his voice rising in pitch and volume. I assume he's saying I shouldn't be hit by guys just because I'm a girl and I roll my eyes. He puts both hands on my temples.

"No – listen. I don't care how 'charming' he supposedly is or how much of a stallion he supposedly is – if he tried to have sex with you against your will I'll kill him." And then I know what he thinks.

"Oh no – Clint, he's not like that."

"I know what he did to Brandy, Kat …"  
"Clint, what are you talking about?" I ask. His eyes are wild, full of hatred and fear.

"You don't know?" he asks. Maybe I was too hasty in saying he's still my Clint – this person looks like a wild man.

And of course, inevitably, Tony chooses that moment to come in, followed by a harried-looking Phillip Coulson "I thought you'd at least wait until he's in a private room, Catnip …" he says, his words slurred terribly, with a drunken smile, not apparently angry anymore after what else we've been through, or maybe that's the alcohol. I try to tell him to leave until we can convince Clint that whatever the Capitol told him he did to Brandy wasn't true, but I feel Clint move beside me. I know exactly what he's doing – grabbing the guard's gun – and I try to grab his arm but it's too late. He fires, aiming for right between Tony's eyes. I grab his arm so he won't get a second shot but I know the first one didn't miss. Time seems to slow down as Phillip shoves Tony out of the way – he's taller than Tony so the bullet meant for right between Tony's eyes enters his throat right below his chin. His eyes go glassy and I know the bullet severed his spinal cord, and any hope I had the shot wasn't fatal dies as he slumps, eyes still open and glassy, against Tony, who is staring at me and Clint with wide, wet eyes, his jaw agape. He catches Phillip automatically, but doesn't apparently have the wherewithal to do anything else. Clint struggles against me, in a frenzy to kill Tony and apparently heedless to what he's done. The guard lunges at him and yanks his gun from Clint's hands. Clint screams at the guard to shoot Tony because he's rapist scum and he's absolutely hysterical – spittle flies from his mouth and hot tears of hatred spill down his face. "Clint … Clint it's the Capitol … they messed with your brain …" I plead with him, trying to calm him down. "Clint, I'd kill him myself if I thought he hurt anyone that way," I say, trying desperately to soothe him while two orderlies run in to restrain him.

"You just don't know, Kat … you haven't seen the footage!" They separate us and even with what just happened I try to resist them, trying to keep a hold of his hand.

Another orderly grabs me and breaks my grip – and I remember letting him go when the mutts were pulling him down and the tears stream down my face. I can never hold onto him.


	41. Splinter (Stephen)

Chapter 41

Splinter

Stephen

I hear a knock on the door. I get to the door as quickly as I can, knowing it must be important. I've spent the days since we got back either sleeping or sitting in my room, praying and trying not to worry. I can't go down to work out or risk splitting my side open again. I throw the door open and find Thresh standing at my door. He looks miserable, and I know it's bad news.

"Stephen … sit down," he says. I wonder what else could go wrong – we already lost Shale and thousands of people from District 12 and failed to kill the President. I stumble to my bed and sit down. "Phillip's gone," Thresh says.

"Gone where?" I ask as the tears sting my eyes, even though I already know. Thresh knows I know, and he just comes to sit by me on the bed and puts an arm around my shoulders. I bite my lip and try hard not to cry.

"Was it from his injuries?" I ask. When the Avengers and agents and some of the survivors who are going to be soldiers came to base in hovercrafts and I saw him, his voice was raspy and his lips were blistered and his skin was red all over – he said his lungs and throat were burned by the hot air, but it wasn't severe. I thought any time you burned your lungs it was probably serious, but he assured me he was fine. He ruffled my hair and told me, for the third time, he was proud of me and I still didn't understand what he was so proud of me for. He told me I was brave, braver than most adults but I sure didn't feel like it climbing onto a hovercraft to leave when there were thousands of people left to walk. I'd feel like even more of a coward if I knew Phil died from injuries he got helping the others escape while I rode to safety.

"No, Stephen … It was Clint."  
"Clint?" I ask, confused. That makes no sense – why would Clint hurt Phil?

"He was hijacked – that's a kind of torture and brainwashing where they inject you with tracker jacker venom and drag up memories so that they end up being altered – and it can make the victim very violent when they come across things related to those memories. They're examining him now to see if he has other triggers." I don't want to think about the boy who protected and fed me being tortured … I especially don't want to think about him murdering the man who's been my friend for a year.  
"Why would the Capitol make Clint flip out when he saw Phil? How did they even know who Phil was?"  
"They didn't … his trigger was Tony. Based on what he was screaming and what he told Katniss just a few minutes before the attack, we think they made Clint think Tony raped Brandy during the Games. He wasn't in control of his actions – the guard says it was like someone flipped a switch and he became a completely different person." I nod. I slump down and stare at my hands, folded in my lap. I feel really unpleasantly empty – like someone just pulled my insides out. "Phillip pushed Tony out of the way and got in the way of the bullet." That sounds like Phil.

"Wasn't anyone worried Clint was hijacked?"

"Phillip was – that's why he went with Tony." I wanted to see Clint and Spruce as soon as they got to base – Danvers told me before she left for battle that I should wait a few days, since they probably didn't want me to see them like that. I didn't really buy it but I figured she had good reasons to keep me away. She must have had the same thought as Phil. "General Fury just told me what happened – he thought you should hear it from me." I'm glad – I don't want the General to see me cry, and I can't stop the tears any more.

"I want to see Tony," I say adamantly. If Phil was worried about Clint being hijacked, he definitely didn't just let Tony walk in there – he probably argued with him the whole way.

"I don't know if that's a good idea … he's really shaken …"  
"He should be! I want to see him!"

"Okay, Stephen, I'll take you there."

I keep myself calm as I follow Thresh down the halls – I breathe deep and slow, and I feel better thinking Phil is with my parents now. I think they'll like him. I shake away any doubts that some part of them is alive in Heaven – it's getting hard to believe, but at the same time I need to have faith more than ever. I remind myself that my mother stayed strong and never quit believing – even when I was lying in a bed with rheumatic fever and they told her I was going to die, or two years later when it was measles, or all the nights when I wheezed and struggled to breathe through the pollution in District 5 and she didn't know if it was the night my asthma would kill me.

I realize we're heading to Shale's quarters – not Tony's. Another way we failed – we should have never trusted Drusa. She fooled us so well – she's a good actress, and she must have planned on fooling us for months. She acted like she changed her mind slowly – we would have suspected something was up if she just turned on a dime. I think Katniss distrusted her anyway – we should have been more like her. Not that Katniss is innocent – I get sick thinking about the moment she screamed at Drusa and gave them away.

Thresh knocks on the door. There's no answer for a long time. "Tony – it's Thresh and Stephen. I think Stephen deserves to hear from you …" Thresh calls in forcefully. The door opens all of a sudden. Tony's inside, a bottle in his hand. His beard's finally growing back – he's got stubble all over his chin and jaw. I can smell the liquor strong on his breath. I have no idea what a brewery smells like, but I can imagine it's something like what Tony smells like. He looks like five miles of bad road. I lose my temper – I push past Thresh and shove Tony hard. He stumbles back across the room and falls against Shale's bed. "What the hell?" Tony demands, his words so slurred I can barely understand him.

"Were you drunk when Phil was killed?" I demand. I just want to know that – I want to know exactly how reckless and stupid Tony was being when he got Phil killed. I don't know if it it'll be better or worse if he was drunk – if it's better that I can blame the alcohol or worse to think it wouldn't have happened if Tony had just been sober. He doesn't answer, just takes another swig and won't look me in the eye, and that's enough of an answer for me. I pummel him hard – punching him in an already bruised face. He fights back but he's no match for me without his fancy suit – I throw punches until Thresh pulls me off. "Stephen!"  
"Let me go!" I shout at the top of my lungs and try to force Thresh's hands away from my waist – before the procedure I would have been helpless against those big, strong hands, but with the adrenaline and the added strength I push him away and go after Tony again. I call him some words that would not have made mom very happy and probably grieve the Spirit. He laughs, and his teeth are stained with blood.

"Never heard you curse before Stephen …" I punch him again – I hate that he can still smile after getting Phil killed.

"You're such an arrogant, drunken creep, Tony – you could have gotten us killed, you did get Phil killed …"

"I didn't! It was Clint …"  
"I know it! Phil warned you – he wanted you to be careful … why couldn't you just listen?! Why don't you ever listen?" Thresh picks me up again.

"Stephen, you're bleeding," he says gently, and I look down to see I've split my stitches again – and so has he. I feel bad that I made him do that and I immediately calm down.

"Let's go," I say roughly, and we step out.

I can't be on a team with Tony anymore – I can't work with Tony or Katniss. Neither of them listen – all they care about is getting their way. They probably don't want to work with each other either – she got Shale killed out of sheer stupidity and he said awful things to her and she saw him get Phil killed. I imagine Katniss will be on Clint's side too – Tony will hate her for that since he won't want to blame himself at all. Thresh is the only one I can still trust. I lean against him as we walk, wordlessly, to the infirmary to get sewn up one more time.

I think about Phil and wonder what Heaven's like for him. Probably very orderly. I remember when I was little and I had a very literal view of Heaven being a place in the sky somewhere and think of Phil coordinating the angels pouring out the rain – with a radio headset made of pure gold and diamonds and wearing a snowy white uniform just like his black one – and the thought actually makes me laugh for a split second – until the pain in my side turns even that little moment of joy into agony.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I gave Stephen measles instead of polio because we've all but eradicated polio and I can't see its reintroduction into North America happening any time soon except as part of bioterrorism and there are much more effective bugs for doing that – measles, pertussis, and several other diseases I've mentioned through this fic, on the other hand, are still alive and well. Vaccinate your kids – don't listen to idiots who say it causes autism or that these diseases aren't that bad. Pertussis, measles, and diptheria can and do kill even with the best of medical care.


	42. Dolls (Brandy)

Chapter 42

Dolls

Brandy

I slip out of bed and past Dr. Pym like always – only now I have to hope his girlfriend doesn't hear either. He's been taking care of me since I came here. I hate this place – I never thought I would hate anywhere with food and a place to sleep, but I do. My brothers and sister and parents aren't here. There's no animals or plants – just these terrible white rooms. I want to go home.

I make my way to Tony's family's rooms – I knock on the door and his mom answers, as usual. "He's not here, sweetie," she says. Her eyes are red from crying – I know she's sad about everything that's happened. I am too – I miss Shale all ready. She used to take me for walks sometimes and try to explain things to me – most of the time I didn'tunderstand but I tried.

Tony is the only thing I like about this place. The way he talks to me reminds me of how my daddy talks to my mom – I think it's affectionate. I know Tony will never be my husband – I'll never have a husband, Daddy said I wouldn't because I was so stupid after the school told Mom I didn't have to go anymore because they couldn't do anything with me. But when I sleep next to him I can pretend for a little while, and no one knows I'm pretending he's my husband, so they think I just miss my brothers and let me keep doing it. That's why I think Tony likes me sometimes – because he never kicks me out, and I think he must think I'm like a little sister, and that's why he says mean things. Some of my brothers said mean things to me – my big sister Wool always yelled at them for it but I never minded so much.

I find Tony in Shale's room. Shale was smart enough to have a husband.

The door's not locked. Tony's inside, and I can hear him crying. I've never seen him cry before. "Hi Tony," I say in the same voice I used when one of my brothers or animals was hurt or sick.

"I'm not dealing with it today, Brandy," he practically growls. I get closer anyway. "I mean it, Brandy – I'm not dealing with your crap tonight. Go be a pain in someone else's ass." He sounds like Daddy did when he was being really, really mean. His tone stings more than the actual words do – but I know it's not his fault. I step forward anyway. His face is all bruised and cut up – I wonder who hurt him. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks as I stand by the bed. I press my doll Tumble into his arms and walk away since I figure he needs her more than me – I want to say something pretty and smart but I don't know what.

"Brandy … wait …" he calls but I keep going. I hope he's going to follow me into the hallway, but he doesn't – so I just keep going until I'm back in my room next to Dr. Pym and his girlfriend's room and go back to bed and cry.

**Author's Note**

So I don't think I've ever explained what my reasoning was with Brandy's character. Basically I wanted a character who was, in many ways, much more vulnerable than either Rue or Prim (both Rue and Prim are intelligent and had quite a bit of medicinal knowledge, and Rue was able to climb very well and is mentioned as being a crack shot with a slingshot) and yet was not as innocent. Rue and Prim were both written as very "Too Good For This Sinful Earth," and that's fine because it's done very well and they had to be for the story to work, but I wanted to have some fun with a little girl who manipulates Tony and cusses at him and is generally quite a pain sometimes.


	43. Support (Peeta)

Chapter 43

Support

Peeta

Katniss eats her sandwich and soup in silence, next to Gale and myself. Prim is too busy going on rounds with the medics, getting trained to be one herself (and eventually a doctor) and her mother is consulting with the doctors about some of the less serious cases. I think about my mother and manage not to cry.

"Maybe it's a good thing," Gale says. Katniss slams her spoon down and glares at him, but I'm just stunned. I could pick my jaw up off the floor. "Not that Phillip died – he was a good man," Gale clarifies quickly, realizing what he said. "But just … that you know how crazy he is now."  
"Oh shut up," I snap, surprising myself. "You heard Dr. Samson – Tony's his only trigger …"  
"That we know of," Gale says darkly.

"Tony's his only trigger because the Capitol didn't think to hijack him any more than they did because they knew the rebels thought he was dead, and they were either going to kill him or wait until he told them everything he knew to try to hijack him further. They're going to convince him Tony didn't rape that little girl …"  
"Maybe they can convince him of that."

"They're going to. Other than that, he needs time and support to recover …"

"He has his brother," Gale cuts in. I kick him under the table.

"Having others couldn't hurt," I counter.

That's when Haymitch joins us. "Tony's holding up okay," he informs us. "Phillip's funeral is at three o'clock tomorrow." I sure hope Gale has the decency to go – Phillip did pick him as an agent, and it paid off. I look to Katniss' face – her eyes are swimming with tears once again. I know she knew Phillip longer than any of us, and she watched him die. She watched her friend … more than a friend, I think with some pain … kill him. She feels like she failed her mission, and feels like she got Shale killed – we just came from her memorial, which was awful. Thresh gave the eulogy, which was beautiful – but the awful part was watching Tony, obviously very drunk, break down again and yell at Stephen for praying, saying if there is a God he obviously doesn't care, and seeing Shale's father staring off into space like a zombie. Katniss wouldn't look at either of them because I know she thinks it's her fault Shale is gone. And all this is on top of the grief we're all sharing. I put a hand on hers.

"It's going to be okay, Katniss," I promise, even though I know she must feel like it's never going to be okay again.

"Have you been up to see him since?" Haymitch asks her, having no idea what we were already talking about, and somehow knowing exactly the wrong thing to say. Katniss shakes her head. "You should see him – if it was you, we couldn't pull him away with a hook and a hovercraft," Haymitch says pointedly. Great, Haymitch, just put her on a guilt trip on top of everything. Gale glares at him – finally we agree on something. But Katniss nods.

"You should see the other one too," Haymitch adds.  
"I did – he's sedated and didn't know who I was," Katniss says. Add that to the list. "But I think – I think I'll go see Clint now, actually. You want the rest, Gale?" Gale nods – no one from District 12 turns down free food, especially someone from the Seam. "You want some too, Peeta?"

"Sure," I say. She cuts the half of the sandwich that's left in half and gives one half to each of us.

"Who wants the rest of the soup?" she asks, trying to sound not miserable even though we all know better. Haymitch raises his hand, sarcastically playing like a kid at school, and she gives it to him before leaving.

As soon as she's out of sight, before Gale can open his mouth, I turn to glare at him. "You're a jackass," I tell him sharply. Haymitch chuckles.

"You too!" I tell him. "I know Clint needs her … but you didn't have to make her feel bad like that. She feels bad enough as it is – she's got to look out for herself or she'll go crazy."

"As opposed to the boy who's been tortured for a year and accidentally killed someone because of horrific brainwashing inflicted on him by his torturers and probably thinks everyone hates him because of it?" Haymitch asks, and I have to concede his point.

"I don't think it's a good idea – her seeing …" Gale starts.

"I know I said until we're out of mortal peril … but if you could pull your head out of your butt for a little while longer, that would be great," Haymitch cuts him off. "I reiterate – he was tortured for a year and accidentally killed someone when he flipped out due to horrific brainwashing and he probably thinks everyone hates him. He needs her more than you, and even if that weren't the case, I'd tell you to back off and let her make her own decision without you trying to guilt trip or bully her into liking you."

"I'm not …"  
"If you're worried he'll flip out on her – he was with her for quite a bit of time and never attacked her. The doctors, people who are smarter than you, are ninety-nine percent sure Tony's his only trigger. And even if he does, he's now restrained and surrounded by guards who keep a better grip on their guns, especially when he has visitors. Having soundly defeated your excuse with logic, I will take no more whining from you about it." I bite my lip hard and try not to laugh at the face Gale makes.

"I'm going to go with her," I say suddenly, having the realization that I can help, and get up to run after her.

I fall in behind Katniss. "Hey," she says softly.

"I want to see him too, and Spruce – I want to apologize."  
"For what?"

"For getting to be victor while they were …"  
"Peeta, don't do that to yourself," she says quickly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I'm glad to hear you say so," I say doubtfully. "Which one we going to first?"  
"Spruce – Samson said he might be more awake in different parts of the day. He … looks a lot better than Clint, at least. I guess they treated him a little better since he was a test subject."

"Makes sense." And she's putting off going to see Clint for just a while longer, which is fine with me.

We come to Spruce's room first. If he looks better than Clint, I'm dreading seeing Clint. I can tell how much weight he's lost – his cheeks are hollow and his arms are like sticks, and his shoulder blades poke out (being starved won't change the fact he's broad-shouldered, all though he looks so much more frail). I expect to find Betty and I do, but I'm surprised by his other guest – Brandy. After what Katniss said, I'm also surprised to see Spruce sitting up and talking, while Betty sits in a chair by his bed, looking at Spruce like he's the best thing ever – and he is listening to a rather spoiled little girl telling him her little traumas even though with what he's been through he'd have every right to kick her out. Brandy sits on the edge of his bed, sobbing, and he listens sympathetically to her story. Apparently Tony was a jerk to her – to the surprise of no one. "Hey Katniss, Peeta," he says when he hears the door shut and looks up to see us. His voice sounds very frail and his eyes aren't entirely focused – I can tell he's medicated but I take him knowing who we are as a very good sign.

"Come here Brandy – I'm sure Spruce is tired, why don't you tell me the story?" I say and she hops down and runs to me and hugs me tight, sobbing, even though she barely knows me. I guess she remembers that I shielded her eyes from Tony getting tortured. I step outside – I really do want to talk to him, but it can wait, and I imagine little girls who are probably a little, well, slow, can be very draining.

She tells me all the details as we wait in the hall. It's very depressing to hear her say she likes Tony because he reminds her of her dad – because I know exactly how Tony talks to her, if it's anything like how he was at the Games. I'd think that was part of his playing the heel, but she says she likes the way he "jokes" with her.

After a long while, Katniss joins me in the hall. "Do you want to go in and talk to him?" she asks. I nod and step in.

He looks so frail – I'm dreading seeing how bad Clint looks. I step forward and give him an awkward hug. "Thank you," I say genuinely.

"For what?" he asks, confused.

"You took care of Katniss, just like I asked," I say.

"Well … Rue and Clint did most of it …" he says modestly. He looks to the door like he's making sure Katniss is gone, then opens his mouth and I know that's exactly what he was doing. "I'm glad you two are together again. I know how much you love …" I swallow hard.  
"Oh that … That was just an angle for the Games," I say quickly, but he looks at me over his glasses – they got him a pair just like the ones he had in the Arena, and I wonder if the eye doctor is in on it or something – and I know he knows I'm lying and I look away. "I uh … I was her friend, you know, and I just thought it would help one of us survive if the sponsors felt sorry for us …" But he knows how I was even in training, how annoyed I was with Tony for hitting on her and asking him to take care of her even if I died.  
"Right," Spruce says, indulging me. "That's … that's understandable. Johanna says Marty wanted her to say the same thing about us." I almost laugh at the mental image.

A nurse steps in carrying a tray of medications. "Can it wait just a little while longer?" Spruce asks.

"I'm afraid not – Dr. Samson wants you on a strict schedule," the nurse answers cheerfully. She's got a District 7 accent – they must have assigned all the staff from there to Spruce on purpose. I'm glad they did.  
"Sorry, Peeta, I'm about to be out completely," he says.

"That's fine – Katniss and I were going to go see Clint today too." Spruce looks worried, but doesn't say anything as I step out.

There's a man in the hall, talking to Katniss – a small-statured dark-headed man looking very official in a white lab coat. "Hello, Peeta," he says gently. "I was just telling Katniss about the ground rules we're laying down for visiting your friends." I've met him before, when I heard about what happened and went looking for more information – I liked him immediately. He's the kind of person that puts you at ease from the start.

"Hi," I say. "I hope it was okay for us to come and talk to Spruce …"  
"More than okay. I'm very glad – I think it will be very good for him. I'm not worried he'll get violent without significant cause – on that front, Clint is far more of a concern." I nod.

"Where's Brandy?" I ask, noticing she's gone.

"I didn't think she needed to hear this," Dr. Samson explains. "She's not to see him – for her sake and his."  
"Wouldn't it help if she could tell him Tony didn't do anything worse than pull her hair?" I ask.

"Eventually, yes, but as it is I'm concerned that he would think she was being pressured to lie and it could turn his paranoia to others." I hadn't thought of that – but it's a very good point. "Besides, I'm sure Katniss has told you – Clint has significantly more visible injuries and he was starved more harshly. I think it would be very upsetting to Brandy to see him that way." I nod – she's just a little girl after all.

"She asked me why the Capitol didn't feed Spruce, since she didn't want to ask him – she understood more than I expected," Katniss adds. Poor baby.

"When you go to see him, I can't emphasize enough that Tony is not to be mentioned. If he asks about him, change the subject as quickly as you can. Don't mention Brandy either – or anything that will lead directly back to Tony. If he asks about Phillip, reassure him you don't blame him and change the subject as quickly as you can." Katniss and I both nod. "Try to be positive. I know it will be hard but the last thing he needs is to wallow in misery – yours or his. Don't mention the Capitol or District 12 unless he brings it up. And Peeta – did anyone warn you about his hand?"  
"No … what happened?" I ask.

"They cut off two of his fingers," Katniss says, and she sounds furious at the thought. "His shooting fingers." I can see the significance of that – and I feel very bad for him.

"Beatee and Howard are working on dexterous prosthetics for him – in the meantime, don't mention it to him. Any mention of the guard that carried out that particular cruelty sends him into hysterics." I brace myself – I tell myself I won't look at Clint's hand at all. "There will be extra guards there and he'll be restrained – try not to be too alarmed." I nod. "Other than that I just have to say – thank you for not abandoning him. He needs friends now more than ever." He especially needs Katniss – I know that.

Dr. Samson walks with us to see Clint, and I fight back the dread.


	44. Hijacked (Clint)

Chapter 44

Hijacked

Clint

I barely remember what happened – I just remember I was furious at the sight of Stark, especially after what Katniss told me. I know the man I killed is the very same one who took care of me on the train, and I haven't stopped feeling sick since I realized what I did. Duke keeps telling me it's not my fault, that I wasn't in control of my actions, but I feel weak and idiotic for letting them get in my brain.

Katniss hasn't come back … of course she hasn't. Who'd want to talk to me after what I did? Haymitch, apparently – he came by and tried to comfort me, but I know he was just being nice.

I lay in my bed, wishing that Lieutenant Coulson had just let me die – he'd still be alive, and I wouldn't be this huge burden on everyone. Duke brought me clothes from home – they're way too loose on me and I don't see the point, but I wear them and tell him thank you for bringing them.

We don't talk – we never really did. He just sits with me and reads over the information the rebels gave him or he sits and thinks – it's not an uncomfortable silence at all. I love having him there again, even though neither of us are acting like ourselves – all though, at least he's not a vegetable like he was after he won. We understand each other, and we don't have to pretend.

Another horrible day ticks by – I try to find the strength to wake up and face the day, but I know everyone hates me, and I could even deal with that if I didn't know I deserved every bit of it.

My day guard hates me – I dread the moment Duke steps out to get supper or go to the bathroom, because as soon as he's gone the guard starts in on me. He never lays a hand on me – Samson would notice and he'd be in trouble. "I hope you don't have any hope that Rogers is going to come see you – Phillip was like a brother to him," he tells me today when Duke leaves for a second. I bite my lip hard and close my eyes and try not to cry – even though I feel the weight of what I did on my chest so heavy it's hard to breathe. "You better hope Phillip's girlfriend doesn't hold it against your little girlfriend next time they fly out on a mission …" He had a girlfriend? The door opens and he shuts right up. Duke knows something is wrong and glares at the guard, but I try to pretend I was unaffected and I just stay quiet.

About an hour later, the door opens and Duke's face lights up and then dims when he turns to look – it's just guards.

"He has visitors," the guard says, not looking at me, and they fasten on the restraints and train their guns on me like I'm a monster. Because I am. Then one of them goes to open the door, and, to my incredible joy, Katniss steps in, followed shortly by … Peeta.

Of course Peeta – he's sweet and crazy about her and, most importantly, not otherwise crazy.

Dr. Samson follows to watch my reactions. I notice Peeta deliberately not looking at anything to the left of my nose, as though he expects my whole arm to be gone, not just the fingers. His efforts to not make me uncomfortable make me uncomfortable.

I put a smile on despite the fact I feel as though I've been kicked one more time and I try to put out my arms for a hug and then remember I'm restrained, so I just sit back and try not to look awkward. I wish she'd come and hug me, but of course she doesn't.

"Hey Clint," she says with a smile – that pretty little smile I never saw enough.

"Hi," I say awkwardly. I hope she's not going to try to comfort me – I just don't want to think about what happened. She doesn't say anything about that – she talks about Stephen and Prim. I'd like to see Stephen – but I know he doesn't want to see me.

"I think Prim might be falling for him a little bit – she couldn't quit talking about how brave he was while she re-stitched his side." I remember how I thought him and Rue were a cute little couple, and somehow that seems both a lifetime ago and only yesterday.

"How'd he get wounded?" I ask. She hesitates, and I know it has something to do with Tony and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. She sees my face and says quickly, "He was shot on our mission. They used armor-piercing rounds but his armor still took most of the damage – he was also really bruised up from the concussive force of the bullets against his armor. He tore out his stitches when he … When he was helping us evacuate …" She stops short, and I know they've told her not to talk about District 12. Duke told me it got bombed, and that's all I know – I have no idea how bad it was, but it if they're not telling me it must be pretty bad. She looks like she wants to talk about it so bad, and I know her heart's broken over what happened to her home and I want to be anyone but me, I want to be someone who's strong enough to catch her.

"Your mission?" I ask, trying to change the subject.  
"We – we tried to kill President Snow." I already know they didn't succeed – they'd have brought me that good news when I woke up. I wish I could take her hand. "I took your bow to do it – it's beautiful, Clint."

"Thanks."

We start talking about archery – that's a pretty safe topic – and before long Peeta smiles and says, "Well Duke maybe we should leave them to it," very unexpectedly, but I'm grateful. Duke gets up to follow very quickly – I guess they expect us to go making out like nothing happened. Dr. Samson, however, stays. It's this long, terrible, awkward silence until Samson intervenes.

"So … Katniss … did you have anything to tell Clint that you didn't want to say in front of his brother and Peeta?" She looks at me for a long while, occasionally starting to say something, and then I guess she can't find the words because she gives up and comes forward to take my hand, and leans down and kisses me on the lips. Just a short, chaste little kiss, but I know what it means.

"But Peeta …" I start to protest, looking at the door after Peeta.

"We're just friends, me and Peeta – what he told Caesar was just to help us get sponsors by making people feel sorry for us." I smile, relieved – at least Duke wasn't putting his foot in his mouth with the way he was talking at the training center, and the thought that she might still care about me gives me a little courage.

This lasts for all too short a time, until Peeta sticks his head in the door. "Katniss – you're going to want to see this."

"I'll be back," she says and kisses me on the cheek. I want to break down and beg her to stay – her being at my side was the only time I've felt happy since I killed Lieutenant Coulson. But instead I nod to her to go and force a smile.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say.


	45. Loyalty (Drusa)

Chapter 45

Loyalty

Drusa

The make-up artists adjust my hair once again – they want me to look disheveled and wounded, but unbroken and strong. I am, after all, the new victor of the 74th Games – apparently it's been redefined to be "the last one who is still alive _and_ isn't a traitor."

I imagine Katniss cursing me, and I know the Avengers all hate me. But it doesn't matter.

I go onstage, to uproarious cheers from the crowd. The Capitol has filled it with their most sympathetic citizens – when the sheep in their homes hear them cheering, they'll cheer along with them. I embrace Caesar, who stands up to see me, and hope it doesn't look as awkward as it feels. I'm wearing a beautiful, short golden dress – I am the Golden Daughter, after all. Caesar raises my hand to more cheering and my smile isn't entirely disingenuous. We sit down and I sit up straight, displaying the composure I've learned all my life. They play a highlight reel from the Games – I manage not to flinch when I watch myself killing all those tributes again. Especially little Track – the audience cheers but I feel like a monster watching myself kill a tiny, fleeing child. It concludes with the blackout – I'm glad they don't show any of the frankens even though I know they've released the footage of that by now. My façade would crumble if I saw Katniss killing the wolf with my father's face and all of my kills being dispatched yet again, this time in franken form. They cover the rebellion briefly – including security footage of my shouted warning to the guards. This receives raucous applause.

Snow enters then, and I stand up and smile like a schoolgirl being told she's a good girl as I shake his hand. "Ms. Romanov – I believe I owe you my life," he says with a restrained but winning smile – but I look into his cold eyes and I know he's watching me closely because he doesn't quite trust me yet. It makes me nervous but I smile modestly and say that I'm flattered, but I only did what any good citizen would do. This time, he brings not just a crown, but a medal. I lower my head, and I'm crowned with this elaborate silver thing with many sharp points, and then I stand back and he pins the medal on my chest. I manage not to flinch at his touch, and I shake his hand one more time.

Snow makes his way offstage, and I go to sit by Caesar once more. "Drusa – what a story! Can you take us through what happened?" I take a deep breath – I remember practicing this with Fury. It was easier when there weren't a bunch of cheering idiots breaking my concentration and my life and the lives of any civilians I could save with information in the balance.

"Well – the first part of it, you know. The frankenwolves were released because the Gamemakers knew the rebel hovercrafts were on their way. It was …" I keep my cool and manage not to curse the Gamemakers for the wolf that had my father's face, my nightmare for the past year, and I know it doesn't show that I want to in my face. "It was difficult and frightening – I was already wounded by the boy from 10," I make a point not to say his name. "And there were so many I couldn't afford to throw my knives and therefore they got very close before I could wound them. I was pretty chewed up when I was taken by the rebels – my recovery was long and painful." Despite their best efforts, I leave out. "All of the tributes were held at their base of operations. They used us against each other – Stephen and Shale were the first to side with the rebels besides Tony, and Shale and Tony would constantly talk to me and try to persuade me to join them. They talked to the others as well – eventually Thresh and Katniss sided with them in time, and then they also came to talk to me." And Lieutenant Coulson – he was much more understanding than the others, and probably a bigger influence than them. "I attempted to escape twice, but the complex was a well-guarded maze of stairwells and rooms, and I could never find a way to arm myself with anything sharper than a butter knife, and worse than that it moved. I was never able to orient myself about where we were – all I knew was we were over the wilds, and I suspected that even if I got loose, I would not be able to find my way back to civilization. I decided my escape would have to be subtler – I knew they were planning on sending the other tributes on a mission. Over the course of several weeks, I pretended to be coming around to their point-of-view, and in the end I was able to persuade them of my loyalty, and they read me into a plan to assassinate President Snow." The crowd gasps, as though the attempt hasn't been news for two weeks, and he hasn't just thanked me personally. "I knew I had the opportunity not only to escape but to subvert their attempt."

"And that you did," Caesar says cheerfully. I take a moment to smile and absorb the applause – but inside I feel the same fear I feel every time I think that Snow survived (I am no longer certain he's human) and the sorrow that Shale is dead. But I can't show any of it now – if everything goes well, I can mourn later, when everything is over.

"I'm just so glad that I was able to provide service to my country and save the life of a wonderful leader, and that I'm finally heading home," I say and wipe a tear of "joy" away from my eye, still smiling and acting like a blushing schoolgirl receiving a good citizenship award.

"Of course – I'm sure your family will be thrilled to see you."

"My sister and I can have the house we always wanted," I gush. "It's just … to go to that from …" I trail off, letting some of the sadness overwhelm me.  
"From what, Drusa?" he asks gently. I knew they'd expect me to say the rebels were awful to me – I worked out a compromise with Fury that won't make them look _too_ bad since they can deny responsibility but will fill the Capitol's expectations.

"I was treated pretty well, because they were hoping to turn me to their side but … there were a few guards who weren't quite with the program on that. I was roughed up pretty frequently."  
"I hate to ask but, with you being such a beautiful girl, one worries about …"

"There was one who tried it. He required testicle retrieval surgery and some bone setting afterwards," I say. He sighs in relief, as does most of the audience. I don't point out that an attempt can be every bit as traumatic as a successful rape – that's not something I think they'd understand.

"Speaking of the guards – I think everyone is curious about the survivors of District 13. Can you tell us anything about them?" I think of Lieutenant Coulson – he sat with me for hours and told me about how he was raised in District 13.

"You'll probably understand this," he told me gently one of the first nights I was there. "I was raised to be a sacrifice for the greater good of District 13 from the time I was a baby. Not for the Games – but for the rebellion. We've planned it for years. I came to this base not understanding how awful that was. So when I look at you – I see a child no one's ever seen as a child, and I don't mean that in a condescending way at all. I think you probably had dreams once upon a time – dreams that didn't involve slaughtering other kids in the Arena. I'd like to hear about them." I thought he really did understand, and that shook me. It took months to finally confide in him – but I did. I wish I were with him now – celebrating with him and the Avengers for rescuing the previous victors and commiserating over our failure to kill Snow and mourning the lost from District 12. But I can't think about any of that now – I have a job to do. Which, right now, is to disparage District 13 – even though I like everyone I've met from that District.

"The rebels from District 13 were very odd – very rigid and unemotional, like robots, and all about efficiency and lacking empathy." That's not true at all – but it was what I thought, very uncharitably, until Coulson came and talked to me, and it serves me to say it now. "I think that they're very strict in District 13 – like a prison or mental hospital." From what Coulson told me, that much is very true. "I'm glad to be away now."

"I can imagine. What went through your mind, all those days?"

"I thought about the treason they were planning and how much I wanted to stop it. I thought about the glory that was stolen from me. I thought about my sister and how upset she must be to not have any certainty about what had happened to me," I say, making sure to put them in the right order, and it earns me another round of raucous applause, and probably booing and hissing at the rebel base – assuming of course this is going out live and they haven't managed to hack the screens once again.

"You are a remarkable young woman, Drusa – I have to confess that I was very saddened when we thought we lost you," Caesar says, and I blush a little. Then I think about his position for the first time – he probably hates sending tributes' kids and other relatives to the Arena. "Ladies and gentlemen – it is my very great pleasure to, very belatedly, present the victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Drusa Romanov!" We rise once again, and I get a standing ovation. People throw flowers. I imagine another world where I might have been a dancer and seen this same sight for an excellent performance of a difficult ballet – but it won't serve me to dwell on it. All I can hope is for such a world for my nieces and nephews, if I ever have any.


	46. Avengers (Katniss)

Chapter 46

Avengers

Katniss

I step into the hall – the screens are all showing Drusa's interview. "Did you call me out for this?" I ask Peeta. I feel the same blinding hatred I did that night on the roof as I see Drusa in her little gold dress – either they used make-up to make it look like we roughed her up or they did it when she came back and they're going to blame us. I hope for the latter since she deserves every bit of pain the Capitol can dish out.

"The screen keeps going fuzzy like the hackers are fighting with the Capitol people – something will be on soon, and I'm guessing it's the Avengers propo," he says with a smile – he doesn't know how much that stings. I'm sure he thinks we did great, that our failure was only due to Snow's unexpected durability. He doesn't believe me when I say it was my fault that Shale got killed, he doesn't know how much Tony hates me or that he panicked and left Stephen and Thresh uncovered. Thresh and Stephen have every right to never want to work with either of us again. But I'll stand and watch the show along with Peeta.

The screen goes black, and then the picture comes on. My heart sinks a little – it starts with Phillip. "I have complete faith in them. They're brave, they're smart, they're talented, they're determined …" It cuts to Stephen. Not giving a polished, artistic little speech written by professionals – just talking. It was before his procedure – he still looks small and frail and young. He's sitting on a chair, not looking directly at the camera, with his arms wrapped around one leg drawn up onto the chair – he's very self-consciously avoiding the fetal position. Cressida asks him what he's avenging – I've never seen his. Phillip is standing in the background with his arms folded – I'd know that stance and those shoes anywhere.

"I guess … no, I know. My parents – and Rue," he says softly. It's his natural voice, not the booming, theatrical voice he puts on in the other propos. I'm surprised they show him looking so vulnerable – but then again the Capitol loves vulnerable.  
"What happened to your parents, Stephen?" Cressida asks gently.

"They were executed for … Technically for the dissemination of treasonous material. The real reason was that they were Christians – Mom and Dad got caught smuggling some Bibles someone found in the ruins of an old church when they snuck into the wilds to other towns in District 5. A Peacekeeper pulled out a gun and shot them both in the head right then and there and took the Bibles – and they left me alone with the bodies for hours until the woman from the orphanage came to get me. I was seven. There was … so much blood …" I cringe – thinking of a little Stephen sitting in blood and crying for hours on end.

We've been on air for a while now – our hackers must be very busy keeping the Capitol's computer experts busy.

The propo cuts to Thresh, sitting on a stool and staring ahead. "My grandma took me in after my parents died of influenza. We lived with my aunt and uncle – Rue's parents. Rue was born when I was six – she was so tiny and perfect and I wanted to hold her all the time. The way it is in 11, you move around to pick or plant whatever crop you need to – Rue loved the orchards best, because she got to climb trees and sometimes the Peacekeepers let us keep the fruit that was a little wormy, and Aunt Lily would cut around the worms and make sauces or juice or pies." The Capitol will probably cringe at the thought of people only occasionally being _allowed_ to eat around worms and considering it a treat. There's an obvious cut – I'd like to hear the full story, and I hope they air it some day. "That was the worst year – it was my last time in the Reaping and her first – and in 11 there's so many kids who are eligible for the Reaping they have preliminaries. Me and Rue came up in the preliminaries, and we talked about what would happen if we were drawn for the Games. She told me not to feel bad about anything I had to do – but I knew I couldn't kill her. Instead I … I abandoned her. I abandoned the little girl I'd known since she was a baby. I have to live with that – I'll never be able to make it up to her. But now's my chance to be brave – like I should have been for Rue." I don't think Thresh has said so many words to me since we've been here.

It cuts to Shale. The guilt I feel when I see her face is almost unbearable. "There's … not much I can say. My mother died in an accident at a refinery that had nothing to do with Capitol negligence, and I never knew anyone in the Games. But every year, as long as I can remember, I remember watching the Games and seeing kids killing each other and I didn't understand it. I remember asking Dad if the kids in the Games had been bad and he said no – they were just unlucky. I asked why the Capitol made them do it and he said it was to intimidate us – he never tried to sell it to me as anything else. I always imagined the Capitol as just one greedy, awful person – a bully who made us do bad things. My mother taught me to stand up to bullies." Another obvious cut. "I used to walk over this bridge on the way to school – there were homeless people who lived underneath it. They had jobs but they were so poor they couldn't afford both food and rent so they lived under bridges, and they were leaving for work about the time I was going to school. They always said hi to me – I started missing a few of them here and there, especially in summer, and I thought they had found homes. And then one day I realized they were dying – from illnesses mostly, a few from heat stroke. I know it's worse in some of the other Districts. There's no reason for it – with advances in technology, we should be able to feed everyone without making them choose between a safe place to stay and food." Another cut. "That's why I want to fight – I was lucky, but I want to fight for those who weren't."

It cuts to Tony. "So Tony, what are you avenging?" Cressida asks.

"My beard," he says adamantly. "I don't know what the hell they gave me, but it still hasn't grown back." To my surprise, I laugh. It's a laugh we all need. But then there's another cut – and now Tony looks very serious.

"Amp was my best friend. I always got him in trouble … he always wanted to follow the rules and I told him it was okay to break them. He was good with electronics but he loved animals … We caught birds and rabbits and all kind of little creatures in the park and tried to keep them as pets – it always made our mothers freak out about fleas and rabies. He read that in the Capitol there were animal doctors, veterinarians, and he wanted to be that." He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. "I sat in my living room and watched Duke Barton put an arrow through his eye." I glance over at Duke – he's frozen all over, with his body as rigid as a board, and he just stares at the screen. "Several times, because it was on the highlights. It was … spectacular. There was a lot of blood and Amp … he died instantly so … he sort of crumpled to the ground in this slow, weirdly graceful way … He hit his knees, then fell forward and laid flat on the ground with his head turned so the camera could see the arrow … it looked staged …" Duke looks green – I won't be surprised if he gets sick.

"Was it hard to see Clint at the 74th Games?" Cressida asks, the obvious question.

"Yeah it was … at first. When I saw him get Reaped I … I didn't know if I wanted to help him. But he didn't kill Amp – his brother did. And, if you take a causal view of things … Duke didn't kill Amp. The Capitol did. He was dead from the moment the Capitol put him in that Arena … Duke just happened to be the one who lived, is all. Amp is the reason I volunteered. He's the person I'm avenging. But not just him."  
"Who else?" Cressida asks.

"Spruce Banner asked me about radiation before the Games. I asked him why … and I'll never forget what he told me. 'I want to know everything I can before I die.' He was so resigned to it … it was all I could do not to try to start the rebellion right then and there. He reminded me of Amp in a lot of ways. The Capitol sends these good, sweet, smart kids to die … for no reason. I'm ready to die so that kids aren't sacrificed for cheap entertainment."

Another cut. I know who's next and I turn red. At least, I think I know who it is – the next thing is footage, obviously captured on a camera hidden in someone's glasses or collar, of Peeta and Gale, handcuffed to each other and a coffee table. I look at Peeta curiously, and he gives me an "I'll explain later" shrug. A voice I recognize as belonging to Phillip asks, "Right. Boys – how do you feel about the Capitol?" Gale looks like he answers first, and I know it was something hotheaded and defiant, but they cut his answer and go straight to Peeta's. Gale won't be happy.

"They killed Katniss – they killed lots of good people for no reason. They're disgusting – they make themselves sick just to eat more food, and Haymitch told me what they did to his family and why. Or at least the rich people are disgusting … I guess I could say I only hate the powerful people who could change it but don't." His answer is so … nice. Onscreen, Gale rolls his eyes and here in the hallway Duke laughs again – I almost do too but I don't want to hurt Peeta's feelings. I'm glad Duke can laugh after seeing Tony talk about Amp.

Finally, my bit starts – only they use it as narration. "If you had asked me what I was fighting for just a few days ago – I would have said I was fighting for my sister, to give her a better future," I say as I watch myself run forward, volunteering for Prim. I see the desperation in my own actions for the first time. "But it's not all of the truth. I want a better future for my sister … for all the little sisters. And little brothers." On that phrase we see Clint as a little boy in his brother's arms. Of course they found a way to sneak him into my segment – it doesn't bother me so much now. "For the orphaned older siblings struggling to feed their families." This is followed by a haunting still photograph of a boy, probably from District 8, no older than Prim, looking away so his little siblings – who, like him, are in the last stages of starvation judging by their skeletal frames and incongruent swollen bellies – won't see him cry. They linger on it for a long time – I feel the tears sting my eyes, and I hope he's okay now but I know better. "For all the kids who will be Reaped if we don't change anything …" We see a brief shot of Amp's death – it's every bit as violent and unexpected as Tony said – and a quick montage of still photos of the aftermath of bloodbaths. "And the victors whose survival came at a terrible, terrible cost." Cut to Johanna showing the tattoos of her dead family members and Duke Barton's dead eyes as he came home. "For all the Avoxes, whose voices were stolen." It shows a horrifying image of someone having their tongue cut out. "For all the little girls like Rue, so they can grow up to chase their dreams." Instead of an image of Rue's death, thankfully, we get two heroic clips of her jumping from tree to tree, and then saving Stephen from Cato, footage I've never seen of her using her slingshot to help us fight the mutts from withint he fence, as well as one of her placing the leaves on my stings to draw out the poison. "For the village healers like Spruce, who should be able to go to school and be real doctors instead of being forced to go to the Arena to kill." As though they read my mind, an image of Spruce stitching Stephen's wound is paired with an image of Prim carefully applying ointment to a burn victim's injuries. "For all the children that deserve to be children – not have their childhood ripped away by hunger or murder or training for murder." It finally shows me again for a brief moment, so they can see my, uh, heroic pose. I think I look like an idiot but apparently Cressida disagrees. "That's why I fight – not just to avenge the wrongs, but to set things right. I do it in honor of the fallen and the suffering," I hear myself say, and I sound like someone different. I look like someone different.

It cuts back to Phillip one last time. "The Capitol may have more soldiers than us, but we've got the innovation, and our soldiers aren't downtrodden and they have a better cause to fight for. In the end, we're going to win."

The propo cuts then into a high octane, pulsing, nonlinear action sequence cut from several things – the boys in the Capitol streets, Shale's last stand, Tony flying hard and fast against hovercrafts, Peeta and Gale and myself carrying children and wounded through the woods, Thresh and Stephen loading hovercrafts despite being wounded, and me and Haymitch taking down the enemy hovercrafts as they came after us. This goes on for quite some time – the fighting sequence is almost twenty minutes. Still much shorter than the annual Games recap, but we can only keep on the air for so long. It's all underscored by pulsing, rousing music. The music comes to a stop and they show us all standing in one heroic pose – I don't recall posing for that photo so they must have put it together on the computer somehow – and Fury's voice asks, "The Avengers know what they're fighting for – do you?"

The screen goes black for a long minute, and then the Capitol takes control back. An announcer apologizes for the delays in airing Drusa's interview and assures Panem it will be on again later – as though nothing happened. I guess they have no comment yet.

I stand there for a long while, trying to process what I've just seen. Duke puts an arm around me – I don't really like it. Peeta stands back, stunned. "I'm … I'm on the team."

I take a deep breath. Phillip's funeral is tomorrow. He believed in us – he thought we could make it work. Maybe he was wrong … Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe I'm too hotheaded and Tony's too arrogant and Stephen's too nice and Thresh is too guilt-ridden and Peeta is too gentle ... maybe we're all too young …

But we shouldn't give up so quickly.


	47. Funeral for a Friend (Multiple)

Chapter 47

Funeral for a Friend

Multiple

_Tony_

I bring Brandy's stupid doll back. I knock on the door to Pym's quarters – the person who answers isn't him, but his girlfriend. I remember hitting on her when she was my stylist and I think about how I would have hit on her even knowing she's Pym's girl if I wasn't still raw all over from losing Shale. She does not look happy to see me.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, hands on her hips and scowling.

"I uh … I was going to apologize for being a little harsh …"

"She cried for hours! You'd better apologize!" I wanted to anyway, but I figured it could wait. Peeta, AKA Nanny Bossypants, had other ideas, however. Janice spots Peeta over my shoulder and that makes her sigh and step aside.

I head inside – Pym is already standing at the door, glaring at me, with a hand on Brandy's shoulder. The way everyone is reacting, I feel like they think Clint's onto something with the rape accusations. Brandy, however, seems happy to see me – she knows I'm here to apologize and the mere fact is enough to make her happy. If I didn't have witnesses, including Nanny Bossypants, I'd just say a rough sorry and give her back her stupid doll and take off and get smashed before Phillip's funeral – I'm going to need it. But the truth is – I know she deserves more, but that won't stop me from being grumpy about it.

I kneel in front of her, and hand her the stupid doll. "Thank you for letting me borrow your friend, Brandy," I say. It's a good thing Peeta made me practice because I would not have been able to say that with a straight face otherwise.

"You're welcome," she says as she takes it back and holds it close against her chest. "Did she help?"  
"Not … not really. She's your friend – she was pretty mad at me for being such a jerk to you."

"I was thinking you were more of an as …"  
"Brandy," Pym says quickly, cutting short her curse, and it almost makes me laugh. Sometimes I really do sort of like this kid. Sometimes. Sort of.

"I'm sorry for taking out everything on you. It wasn't your fault." She ambushes me with a hug – of course she does. I hug her back and pat her back – I hold back all the sarcastic comments I want to make because even though Brandy wouldn't mind my witnesses would probably think I'm a huge tool. When I pull away she actually looks sort of confused that I'm still being nice.

"I uh – I've got to go get ready for the funeral," I say.

"Of course," Pym says skeptically – I think he knows what I mean by getting ready.

Peeta and I step into the hall and I start to head for my room. "If you're going to go look for alcohol – you should know I hid it all," Peeta says smugly.  
"Hid it?" I ask.

"Yes. Go to your room and search if you don't believe me." I of course don't take his word for it – I jog to my family's quarters, dogged by Nanny Bossypants all the way. I open the front door and almost don't notice my mother sitting in the entryway.  
"Tony, what are you doing back so soon?" she asks as I run past.

"I uh …"  
"Were you looking for the alcohol Peeta took this morning?" she asks with a smile. I'm dreaming or something.

"Mom – you let him?"

"Why not? You said so yourself – you don't need it," she says, that smile never sliding off her face. Traitor.

"I … I don't," I say, even though I'm already cringing at the thought of sitting through Phillip's funeral stone cold sober.

"You embarrassed yourself and everyone when you lost your temper at Shale's memorial. You're going to behave yourself at Phillip's funeral," Mom says. I cringe – I don't even remember Shale's memorial. I can't remember the memorial for the only girl I've ever really loved. But I'm not backing down. I can't face my mother – not when she's this disappointed in me. But I can face Peeta, so I turn on him.  
"I know Cressida kind of just threw you onto the team but no one gave you the position of Team Nanny …"  
"Position was vacant ever since Phillip died and no one else was applying," he says roughly. And I hate to admit it but he's right about Phillip's role – I think of Phillip shuttling us to training, to propos … following me to Clint's room …

"Are you planning to bug everyone else or just me?"  
"Just you, today – I'll do what I have to do with the others as it's required," Peeta answers roughly. He even sounds like Phillip. I don't have any choice I guess.

"I better shave," I say with a sigh – I finally have some hair on my chin and jaw again, but it's still too thin to grow a proper beard. I'm hoping it will all be back to normal soon. I look at Peeta, but he hasn't moved. He's already dressed in a ratty suit that I guess his dad brought him from District 12 – I can smell the coal dust on it – and his hair's combed and if he had to shave he has already. I curse under my breath – he's gonna watch me like a hawk and I'm not gonna have a chance to slip off and look for the alcohol Mom helped him steal.

_Danvers_

I adjust my uniform – the rebels are too practical to have a separate dress uniform, so I just wear the cleanest, least torn up uniform I have. My brain still hasn't adjusted to thinking about Phillip in past tense – I keep expecting him to come in and criticize my uniform or complain about how the Avengers are running him ragged or joke about the dreck the Capitol puts out. I glance at myself in the mirror – I still look like hell.

I don't want to step out of the room. I know what I'll deal with from the others – they treat me like I'm his widow. The rumors have followed us ever since we were kids in a training camp somewhere in the wilds and we insisted on cots next to each other. We did try the romance thing once – it was brief and awkward. We were trying to relax after training and I said he was the only man I'd ever fully trusted and I knew I was about the only person of either gender he trusted enough to let see him in his weaker moments and he said it was a shame he couldn't just marry me and I asked him why he couldn't. So we found a storage closet since we weren't of high enough rank to get our own quarters yet. The make-out session that followed was the longest five minutes of my life. He wasn't a bad kisser or anything – there just weren't sparks. He was kissing my neck and I was staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if I remembered all my chores – all the underlings had a lot. And some of the kids from District 13, Phillip included, did extra just because they'd never learned how to sit and do nothing. "You bored?" he asked, and his voice sounded like he was as bored as I was.

"I can't remember if I cleaned the drains," I admitted.

"I was thinking that I need to press my sheets again before morning inspection," he said, and we both laughed and argued over which was a more insulting distraction. The argument lasted longer than our attempt at romance.

They're as practical about death as they are about everything else in District 13 – no burials, no elaborate tombstones, no fancy funerals that everyone and their dog attends. Just a scattering of ashes and a few words by the people who loved the deceased most. I asked Phillip one time if he wanted something different – we have the option to be buried however we want, if it's feasible at the time, with Fury – and he just looked bewildered. "I'll be dead – why would I want anything more? None of it will matter at that point – not to me." I know he's right – I know he didn't feel it, but I still want to scream when I think of Phillip being burned to ash. In almost the inverse, I cringe at the thought of the huge memorial, filled with people who barely knew Phillip, since he didn't want that. I saw how Tony was at Shale's memorial, and I have a terrible idea of what's going to happen today, and I know Phillip would hate the drama. I find myself hoping they cleaned him up before they burned him – for some reason it bothers me to think of clean-cut Phillip being laid to rest looking as rough as he did.

I've fiddled with my uniform long enough – I have no more excuses not to leave this room.

_Stephen_

I say my prayers in my room this time. It will feel disrespectful not to say them at the funeral too, but I don't want to provoke Tony again and maybe I was being too up front last time – I know the Lord will understand.

There's also a mass memorial later today for those lost in the bombing of District 12 – I think of the people we lost, once again, and I'm shaken. I try to imagine Phillip's loss times four thousand and I can't begin to fathom it. Is there anything the Capitol won't do?

I don't have a suit or anything – the last time I saw the suit I wore on Reaping Day, it was on the floor of the train to the Capitol and I have no idea what happened to it. The white uniform isn't special enough, I don't think, so I put on the uniform I wore on the mission even though it's still torn and bloody. He believed in us and I think it's appropriate.

_Duke_

I kiss Clint on the forehead like I haven't since we were little – Samson was worried about him, given the day, and sedated him more than usual, and he's fast asleep. I wonder if he's dreaming – I hope they're good dreams, if he is. Maybe he's dreaming about Snowball, or being little again. I know my good dreams, the few I have, involve being a little boy again, before the influenza epidemic, during a good year when there was enough food.

I slip away to go to Coulson's funeral – he took care of my little man and helped us all escape, and I never got to really thank him. It's a little late now – but the least I can do is show up.

_Katniss_

Prim and I board the hovercraft that's going to take us to a little spot in the woods – this still bothers me. We're scattering Phillip's ashes by the ruins of District 12 – his father thought that was fitting, considering he was a big part of the reason District 12 is empty ruins instead of a graveyard and almost half of our people were saved. That's not the part that bothers me – it bothers me that they burned him. I know that's normal for District 13 but it's a little creepy to me.

Duke sits next to me – I look up to him and smile. I want to ask how Clint is but I don't want to mention him in a room full of people mourning Phillip. I look up and see Spruce and the Capitol girl he saved – I'm so happy to see him. I go over to hug him and he hugs me back real tight, just like he did when we met a few fateful days ago.

Stephen is there as well, of course – Prim immediately abandons me to go sit by him. I watch them curiously – she gives him a hug and then they sit there awkwardly, not talking or anything, for the whole flight. Of course, this isn't exactly a happy occasion.

Boggs sits on my other side and points out Phillip's best friend to me – her eyes are rimmed with red and heavily shadowed, but now she's stone-faced and holds her head high.

We land in the woods in the closest clearing that's large enough to fit all of us – there's already another one here from District 13. We disembark slowly, somewhat awkwardly.

Phillip's father looks like him – I know who he is as soon as I see him. Only he's old and frail, and looks more like Phillip's grandfather. I want to go up and offer my condolences but he's got Phillip in an opaque jar – I know that's what must be why he holds the jar so reverently in his arms. I feel Duke tense up beside me, and I know he's as horrified as me – we've seen bodies before, but never someone burned up. Well, not all the way burned up – we've seen bodies ruined by fires and explosives, and maybe that's why the idea is so horrifying to us. Maybe if you've never seen that, you can think of it as peaceful, like burial. Not that I'd like to be buried alive either – I tell myself being cremated is as different from being burned alive as being buried is from a cave-in.

Prim stays by Stephen – he's going to need someone as sweet as Prim, so I don't worry about it too much.

_Duke_

We sit and stand around the clearing, and people get up and talk. All I can do the whole time is look at his father, holding his son in a jar and I get a little queasy.

I force myself to look away, and I look at the grass while I listen to the beautiful speeches. And that's when I remember the garden I kept outside of the little house where Clint and I lived for a few months from the time we fled the Peacekeepers who broke up the circus to the time I won, and how I would put ash from the fireplace into the soil. I never got to eat out of the garden, but I know the plants grew up strong and pretty. I wonder if people ashes are the same way – and then I remember what Mama used to say about the Circle, how plants fed animals and animals fed other animals and people, and then when animals and people died, they fed plants and it all started again. I know they're going to scatter Coulson's ashes here in this area – I think about his ashes sinking into the soil, and growing into the grass and trees around here. District 12 is a lot prettier than I thought – or at least, the woods outside it are. Suddenly, I'm not bothered by the cremation so much anymore. It's like the old saying – ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. This way just gets you there faster. I'm still not going to look at the jar though.

_Stephen_

His friend Carol speaks first – I'm not sure if they were more than that or just really close, but she knew him for a long time. "I first met Phillip when I was fifteen and starving to death – District 13 was kind enough to take me in, and they took care of me, fed me and treated my illnesses and injuries. Phillip was also fifteen – he was on guard duty at the infirmary, where I was recovering, and he used to sit and talk to me. The first time we met, I woke up and there was this boy standing there, and I thought he'd be like the others – instead he asked how I was feeling. He was so kind and understanding – he just listened to me talk. His father took me in – it was only for a couple of years before we went off to join General Fury, but I never take for granted how special those two years were. Training was hell … but it wasn't as bad as it could have been, because I had Phillip. He told me once that … He didn't know what to do with himself when he had free time, so he decided to watch the records of all the previous Hunger Games, just to know what he was fighting, and by day four he was, needless to say, incredibly depressed … he told me that he didn't care if he had to lay down his life to stop the Games, as long as he did whatever he could. When I heard that Phillip died putting himself between Tony and … a bullet …" She doesn't blame Clint – I think that's a good idea. "I didn't know whether to be proud of him or furious at him. But I knew … if he had to die, I know that's what he would have wanted." She ends her eulogy on that note – everyone nods sympathetically, and I hear murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd.

They asked me to speak – I'm nervous, but I find the words. "Phil … Phillip … was always so supportive of us," I start lamely. "I met him the second day after I was rescued from the Arena. They were already planning what I would say about Rue and I was still … raw … and he went with me to the taping and promised me I'd do fine and stayed with me the whole time. He took me under his wing – he would take walks with me and talk with me whenever he had a free moment, which wasn't very often but I appreciated the time. He was someone I could look up to, someone who had more experience and knowledge than me and who cared for me, and I hadn't had that since my parents were alive. He … He told me three times he was proud of me, and I never knew why he was so proud of me. My only hope is that one day … I can be whoever it was he saw in me." As soon as I go to sit down, I'm besieged by a lot of people, mostly women, trying to rush and hug me and reassure me that I already am the person Phillip was proud of.

Tony stands up even though he really wasn't supposed to. "I uh … I just wanted to say … it's probably a little late now but … Phil was … one of the best human beings I've ever known. I knew him for a long time because of the rebellion and all … I treated him like … not as well as I should have. I know it's too late to say sorry but … I just wanted to say that." It's a terrible, awkward silence – everyone is torn between feeling sorry for Tony and ticked off that he, yet again, has made everything about himself. Plus, I haven't forgotten he's at least as much to blame as Clint for what happened.

General Fury is next to last to speak – he calls Phil his good eye, and praises the way he looked out for all of us and how he managed to be cool-headed and compassionate at the same time. He even praises Phil for having the spine to disobey orders when he knew it was right. It's one of the most flattering eulogies a soldier could get from his superior officer.

Phil's father is the last to speak – he breaks my heart. He says he and his wife weren't supposed to be able have children – Phil was the happiest of accidents long after they'd quit trying to start a family. I think to myself that God knew how much we all needed him, even if it was only for a little while. He tells this heartbreaking story about how when his wife was dying of cancer, nine-year-old Phillip broke dozens of rules and risked his life thirty different ways to get to the fence of District 12 – because it was a local legend that anyone who could get that far got a miracle. He says that that, along with Phil's most recent heroics, is why he decided to scatter his ashes here. "I didn't want to let Phillip join General Fury – I didn't want him to be sacrificed to the rebellion. But he wanted to go – he insisted on it. I think that's what's hardest … Phillip chose to make himself a sacrifice so others wouldn't be forced into it. He is … He was … always my brave little boy …" he breaks down then, and Carol gets up to help him sit down and hand him a handkerchief. When he's calm enough, Carol helps him walk a little ways away, into the thick woods. She opens the jar and Phil's dad, with shaking hands, reaches into the jar. I think some of the other people from the Districts are going to faint, but it doesn't bother me – cremation isn't unheard of in District 5. It's cheaper than a full burial, and slightly more expensive and personal than being thrown in a potter's field, making it a popular option. Phil's father gathers a bit of his son's ashes in his hands and then slowly lets them run through his hands as he walks along the tree line. We're patient and quiet as we watch this go on until all of Phil's ashes are scattered along the trees.

_Katniss_

We head back to District 13 – it's sickening how short of a hovercraft ride it is, knowing how hard it was to get everyone there on foot – for the second memorial of the day, and this one is even harder to bear.

I look at the freshly disturbed dirt over the trench that stretches for what feels like a hundred miles and I know who's underneath it. At least District 13 was kind enough to bury them instead of cremating them – they must have understood how we feel about that.

They have Peeta speak there – it's a very fitting choice. They probably wanted to have the mayor speak, or someone important … but the mayor is gone. He refused to take special treatment and get in the coal trucks while he had the chance, and so a little kid is alive because of him. Peeta laments all the individuals he knew – which is apparently hundreds of people, because he's Peeta and he was the kind to know what kind of bread everyone liked and how they were doing. But he's interesting enough and the occasion is solemn enough that no one objects to the fact he goes on for hours – everyone who can get one deserves a personal eulogy. "I'm very sorry that I didn't know everyone who died, and I never will. They deserve words and I'm afraid I can't give them that – I hope there's someone who can, for all of them." I'm sure there's been dozens of private memorials by survivors and there will be many more, but it's also likely that whole families got killed together. I'm not sure if that's better or worse. "Most of you know that I lost my mother … I'm sorry …" his voice cracks and he has to pause and cry for a moment, and I know he's not going to say much more about her now – he and his father and brothers will probably stay for a while. I expect him to try to rally the troops – to promise the dead they will be avenged, but he refrains. He concludes by lamenting the loss of District 12 as a whole – the survivors are now homeless, living off the kindness of strangers – I hadn't thought of it so bleakly until now.

Most of the others head inside, but a lot of us survivors stay outside to lament the loss of the ones we knew. We take turns speaking out loud to each other. I talk about Madge, and the token she gave me which is now a symbol of a rebellion, and wonder aloud if she had any inkling of what was coming. It takes hours and hours – the whole day, but we take every moment that it takes.

Stephen stays with us and listens, he has his head bowed and I know he's praying, silently this time after Tony's little tantrum. I'm torn – for the most part, I agree with Tony, but at the same time I desperately want to believe the people buried in this huge trench have found their way to a better life. My standards for Heaven are probably set pretty low.

But I don't think about it too long – my fingers are already itching to get back on a bow. We're at a pause now, but it won't last for long – and we're going to have to be ready.

_Tony_

As soon as we get back to base and Peeta tells me where my liquor is, I'm getting smashed. Being hung over is bad, going to a funeral for a good man you constantly gave a hard time and probably got killed is bad, going to a mass memorial for thousands of people is horrible, but doing both funerals in one day while hungover should be the punishment in Hell for people who put ice in centuries old Scotch.

At least Spruce was happy to see me – he hugged me so tight I thought he'd crack my ribs when he saw me. "I knew it! I knew you weren't lying!" he said triumphantly – even though the fact I wasn't lying about the rebels didn't do him a whole lot of good. On the way back, he sits by me and puts a hand on my back – at first I thought he didn't know what happened, that I was disobeying orders when I went to see Clint, but the way he's acting all supportive and all that makes me think he does, and he likes me anyway. I knew I liked this guy.

I feel bad I didn't go see him first – Phillip would still be here and Spruce was obviously not hijacked to hate my guts.

I can't look at Phillip's girlfriend. Phillip always said they were just friends but I don't believe that – no red-blooded heterosexual single guy could spend so much time with that fine specimen of womanhood without making a move. She's keeping it together but I know she's devastated and the one time I made eye contact on the way over she looked like she wants to flay me alive, and the worst part is I know she has the right to hate me.

Someone finally makes the mistake of asking Duke Barton about his little brother – they called him Clint, too, and the name draws a lot of unpleasant looks, understandably.

"He's uh … they sedated him today," Duke says lamely, fully aware of the awkward looks he's getting. I look at Spruce, who looks at me and shrugs.

I look over in Katniss's direction – she still hates me, I think – and see Stephen and Prim sitting together, with Prim resting her head on Stephen's shoulder. That little prick has a way with the ladies – even I wasn't that good when I was thirteen.

We're almost there when Duke comes to sit by me. "Look, Anthony …"  
"Literally no one calls me Anthony. You can call me Tony," I say irritably.

"Tony … every day since the escape I've been wanting to come and tell you sorry … but the thing is I know no words will ever make it …"  
"You're right," I say roughly. "I just … I know you did what you had to do. Let's leave it at that." He nods, but he looks devastated that I didn't take his groveling, and he goes back to the seat he was in. Spruce gives me a look but I ignore him.

We make it back to base long after dark – as soon as we disembark I demand that Peeta tell me where the booze is. "Apologize to Stephen first."  
"He hit me!" I protest, wishing I had a cattle prod to jab Peeta again.

"Fine. Talk it out with him then," he says flatly.

"No. He's pissed at me, and he has a right to be – nothing I can say would make up for that," I say. "And I think trying will only make it worse," I add, thinking of the painfully recent experience with Duke.

"Okay, you have a point," Peeta says. Then he breaks out in a big grin I wasn't expecting to see from him today. "I gave your liquor to Haymitch and Chaff for safekeeping."

"Safekeeping?" I ask in a strangled cry. The only reason I don't strangle him is that they were with us most of the day – Haymitch was basically a hermit but home still meant something, and Chaff is his friend. But they're here on base now, and if I don't get to them quick they're going to be playing drinking games with eight hundred year old whiskey. I take off like a bat out of hell.

_Peeta_

I think of what Tony said – I know he's right about apologies. I don't need them to like each other – I just need them to work together.

I'm tired in every bone – even though I've slept plenty. Sleeping is easy – when it's dreamless.

There's one more thing I have to do before I sleep once more.

I find Stephen in the gym, risking tearing open his stitches by going at a punching bag like there's no tomorrow. He has a good hook – I wouldn't like to fight him, even though he's just a boy. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" I ask.

"Sure," he says, but doesn't stop hitting the bag. I talk over the sound of it.

"I know that you and Tony aren't on the best of terms …"  
"I'll work with him if those are my orders. I'm not ever going to like him," he says bitterly.

"I know that," I say evenly, understanding. "I was just …"  
"What? You think I'm going to be a whiny little brat who can't follow orders like Katniss and Tony?" He pauses for just a second then, realizing he's put his foot in his mouth. But I bite my lip and don't say anything – I've watched the full, uncut footage of the mission now, and I know he's right.

"No, I guess not," I say evenly. "I was just hoping for something short of open hostility."

"Maybe eventually," he says. Not exactly promising.

"You know … depending on how well Clint recovers they probably want another archer …"  
"No," he says flatly. "Same thing – I'll work with him if I have to. I'm not going to go see him otherwise."

"It's not his …"  
"I know it's not. That's why … I couldn't look at him and not be mad and I don't want him to feel worse," he says, and he looks a little embarrassed to admit it.

"I understand," I say, nodding.

At that moment, Thresh comes busting in. "Stephen! If you tear your stitches out again I'm telling Prim to sew it up without any anesthetic!" he says sharply, and I almost laugh. I'm glad I'm not the only one looking out for the team.

_Fury_

The hackers arrange for a nice little encore of the Avengers propo. It won't be seen by as many people – the victory interview is required viewing – but Snow will watch, and I'm going to rub the fact he was beat to a standstill every chance I get.

Hill stands back, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, as she watches. She looks to the ground for a brief moment when the part with Phillip airs.

"Do you have something to say, Lieutenant?" I ask.

"This … doesn't sound like something Phillip would have said. His objection to putting the Avengers on the front lines was well noted."  
"Was it?" I ask evenly, pretending I didn't personally hear his plea for me to make their roles more symbolic. Hill bites the inside of her cheek but doesn't say anything further, even though she surely knows the quote was pulled out of context.

I already know that Katniss and Tony's expressions both softened when they saw it – Katniss was caught on security camera and Tony's mother expressed her gratitude to us for reassuring her son about Phillip's faith in him, and described how Tony smiled for the first time since Phillip died. I would guess the revelation will help Stephen come around as well, even though he's still angry at the moment – as much as he looked up to Phillip, and judging by what he said at the funeral today. Peeta seems to already be trying to take over Phillip's role – throwing him onto the team may turn out to be a better idea than I thought.

The Capitol gets control of the air back before the propo is quite over – but we got most of the action in and all of the speeches. This time their response is ready – they show crying widows being informed about the loss of their husbands to the rebels, not that they can claim the high ground when over four thousand innocent coal miners and their children are dead. Snow himself speaks to the cameras. "To all the citizens of Panem – I beg you to think of the ordered lives you have led. Cling to stability and certainty – do not hang your hopes on the vague promises of a shadowy bunch of thugs and delusional expatriates who cannot possibly win. Remain loyal, and it shall be rewarded. If not …" They cut to footage of the bombing of the fleeing refugees, and I think that's a fatal mistake. He's using too much stick, not enough carrot.

Phillip's words – as powerful in context as out – come back to me. "In the end, we will win." I know the boy was right – and I'll do whatever I have to, including misrepresent him, to hasten the day those words are fulfilled.

**THE END**

**Future Directions**

So thanks for sticking with me so far. I'm currently working on the last part in which all will be answered about the Thor stuff and you finally get to see proper superhero fights (and some superhero/supervillain fights).

**Author's Note**

I'm an organ donor and I plan to be cremated considering I've authorized the organization to take skin and bones (for grafts). My grandmother was cremated and that's my mother's wish as well. I've never thought anything of that but when I've told several of my friends (as part of weird conversations, admittedly) they acted really shocked. I guess the idea of cremation is shocking if it's a novel to the person.


End file.
